Weiss and Human
by Honore - Form. MerlintoVivian
Summary: Keima - the Capturing God. Hakua - the rising star in the Runaway Spirit Recovery Squad. Put them together at the start, and you've practically got a new story! But as in all fanfiction, there is always a subtle twist...
1. I Am the God and the Devil is Thou

Author's Notes(11/20/2010): I truly apologize for the wait again, you folks who read Anarchy. No new computer has come yet, so it's still quite delayed. To apologize, here's a story I whipped up more recently. From the date, I think I wrote it at about the same time I was writing the first part of the Breaking, so it's more nearer to my current method of writing – that is to say, right after I'd decided to write fanfiction again. TWGOK fandom is, in my opinion, small, but the fact that the manga's being circulated around the Net in English for some eighty chapters now certainly speaks for a steady pace. (I remember it had been eighty since I stopped reading manga for a while)

Disclaimer: Yada, yada, don't own the manga series English-translated as "The World God Only Knows", no profit, yada yada

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Author's Notes: Here is something I've been meaning to get off my head since I finished marathoning the interesting new series: The World God Only Knows. I'm sure the idea ain't original, but we'll see if we can't make something out of it, eh? Rough sketches go in the "rough" folder, PRIORITY to find dedicated info source (no wikipedia article yet)

For Katsuragi Keima, a day of unexpected happenings was nothing entirely new.

He thought he knew best, as he'd personally been witness to such events cropping up in front of him like the little buggers in a whack-a-mole machine.

Such included a mysterious beautiful transfer student, or a secret underground laboratory under the school, or getting to live in an inn comprised of aliens who masqueraded as humans. The list went on and on, and Keima could attest to have experienced them all.

In games, of course.

...is what he'd like to attest, but to this recently turned second year high school student, certain bizzare happenstances had crossed the boundary of his PFP and into his own reality.

One such instance had been back in elementary, during that awful earthquake, when he'd forgotten the details of his trip entirely. Another had occured in his middle school, and now it was happening to him in the middle of high school.

One for each educational period in his life: that was certainly a curious circumstance. But to Keima, such events should have yielded themselves to forming a tangible pattern spread out before him. Much like in his games, a certain predictable set of important events would build up to a grand conclusion, each end he rabidly pursued.

Yet in those three crucial parts, he was in a right quandary. And that spelled nothing but trouble for this avid ero-gamer.

"THE CAPTURING GOD" - legendary, but shadowy figure in the gaming world's seedy underbelly, known for his divine prowess in completing the conquest of any girl in any dating sim, galge, eroge, any game that involved the capture of an onscreen maiden's heart: all fell within the capabilities of this self-proclaimed diety of the gaming world.

Yes, in exchange for this status, he would forsake the reality of the world around him, but that was a meagre price to pay, especially if it meant that the 2D world would always be under his sovereign rule.

For this young Katsuragi, the real was abhorred above all. It only brought hardships and headaches to his young mind. Better the structured, beautiful worlds he immersed in, than wallowing himself in the whims of the real.

He would not acknowledge the real. The real could not appeal to him. It shouldn't have, save for those three events mentioned. And as also mentioned, one was literally staring him in the face right now.

"Very well, let us compose ourselves first. And save, of course," he muttered the last under his breath as he put away his PFP. Then, he folded his legs under his body and sat properly on the rooftop floor. "First of all, who or what are you?" he inquired of the strangely dressed figure in front of him.

The girl (or woman) who had appeared with a torrent of air in front of him, raised her eyebrows thoughtfully at Keima.

In that split second, Keima had noted her preliminary details (as in games). First of all, she clearly exuded a unique aura, making her appearance an extraordinary event, if her thunderous arrival were not a clue in itself. Then Keima noted her outlandish attire, which also clearly highlighted her quality. Then body specs (noting the abysmal chest size), and ending in a curious thought of that weird skull-shaped object perched on her purple hair. Something for later. And that scythe, of course. What an ominous portent of doom.

"Are you perhaps a _shinigami?_" Keima couldn't help but mumble thoughtfully before he caught himself and stared resolutely back up at the still silent stranger.

"I wish to confirm for myself, as well." _She speaks!,_ Keima thought. _And she speaks perfectly understandable Japanese! _That was several scenarios eliminated from the list. "Are you Katsuragi Keima, born June 6th, second year student at Majima High School, but more importantly known as the Capturing God?"

"Yes, that is certainly me." Keima replied with a hint of pride. _And you can add to the portfolio: one of the undisputed Dukes of the gaming world, world's first-_

The stranger huffed and scrutinized Keima's face closely. "Really now? For a being known as the Capturing God in the human world, you sure don't look impressive according to my estimates. You don't look that different from any average lowborn human in the mortal realm." _What's with that look of disdain? You're looking down on ME?_

"Hmph. You underestimate the role of the protagonist. Although sometimes his looks may seem ordinary to those looking from outside, in reality he is the lynchpin that holds the routes together! Without the protagonist, there will be no main route! Without the protagonist, there will be no one to uncover the girls' problem-"

"Stop, alright I understand _completely. _Not that I'm questioning your pride or anything, Capturing God, but one has to check if the product's high quality before buying right? Surely a God like you must understand." _Someone who understands? Can someone like that exist? _Keima thought in wonder. _But wait, she is still an unknown. There do exist the enemy whom you completely understand-_

Thus, Keima responded with enthusiasm, "Naturally! If one were to only consider the external factors, such as the software companies who made the game, or the writer involved, or the game art previewed-"

While Keima ranted on, the girl put a hand to the skull ornament on her head and muttered something unintelligible. The skull's eyeholes glowed for a second, and unbeknownst to Keima, a small collar appeared around his neck.

"Contract confirmed." The girl looked down at the still-sitting (and ranting) boy and pursed her lips as if preparing herself for something. Then she bent down and laid out her hand to the boy, shutting off his ravings with an impatient wave. "Well then, shall we get started, Capturing God?"

Keima looked from the proferred hand, to the firm red pupils that gazed unflinchingly down at him, then back to the hand. _Hmm...A decision point so soon, and yet I've no background information yet. This is bad, if I were to click either choice __without any predictions on the consequences, I might go down an undesirable route._

_A worse case scenario – a Bad End! _Suddenly, an image of his mutilated body hung over the rooftops flashed into Keima's mind. (Of course, it was just a game CG he'd recalled and superimposed his own face upon)

As Keima struggled with indecision, the girl was also growing tired of her pose. Gritting her teeth in irritation, she thrust with her other hand and caught the back of Keima's shirt with her scythe blade.

_Oh my God! The Shinigami is claiming me! Reload! Reload save! "_What're you doin-" Suddenly the girl thrust her cross face close to his own. Keima was unnerved by the sudden close proximity of their faces – she could clearly see her face and she smelled...

"-got it? I've no time for dilly-dallying around. So let's go and get started already, sheesh!" Just as Keima was about to protest with a perfectly reasonable question, the girl had gone up, up and away – with Keima in tow.

_Huh? Blue skies...blue clear skies and what is this sensation of flying – wait we're flying? Flying! I'm flying, flying sky high! What the hell is this? _Keima almost fainted from the sudden shock of his body hurtling through the air like a missile, but he stood firm. _I am a God! A God!_

The touchdown was merely a blur to Keima as his mind struggled to come to terms with what his body had just experienced. It was like he'd been through the worst workout in gym class in his life, and as a result he wheezed uncontrollably, breathing out puffs of hot air.

"I'll hold back on the lecture later, so I'll just give you the shorter version now." Creaking his head to turn to the girl, Keima watched her take position in the front of the classroom with the blackboard at her back.

"In this realm, the human realm, roam the beings known as Runaway Spirits. They are malevolent creatures – said to be the souls of wicked humans that have escaped the bounds of Hell." Keima's jaw dropped as he watched the telltale pink fabric wrapped around the girl's neck uncurl and cover the blackboard. A pink screen then formed, conjuring up images of classical demons against a backdrop of Hell. _Wait a second, Hell?_

"Their purposes on this realm are diverse, yet they are united in the means of fulfilling those purposes," the girl continued, her imperious eyes never leaving Keima's. "Runaway spirits hide within the 'crevices' of the human heart." The picture on the screen shifted its images as she spoke. "It is understood that the human hosts chosen are universally female, because of the spirits' desire to be reincarnated through their hosts." _It's all easily understandable, and a few questions can be easily raised – wait, why am I going along with the flow?_

"Thus it is the obligation of us devils in the Underworld Special Taskforce for Runaway Spirits to discover, restrain, and recover these runaway spirits – and take them back to Hell. There are some other particulars that can be elaborated upon, but I shall cover that later." A disturbingly familiar disappearing sound accompanied the dispersal of the pink screen. Keima again watched as the pink cloth reformed around the girl's neck.

Then the girl stood erect, and held her scythe upright at her side. "My name is Hakua du Rotto Helmium, District Chief of this area. Starting from this day you, Capturing God, shall be my 'buddy'. Following orders from above to test the validity of the controversial method of 'love', you have been chosen by Hell to aid the mentioned research in releasing the spirits through the means of love. Through this-"

"WAIT WAIT WAIT! Stop speaking for a sec!" Keima shouted, waving his hands in protest. "Runaway spirit? Heart? Hell? Buddy, research? You can't expect me to go with the flow of the Real like this! What the hell are you people- blargh!"

Keima was silenced by an eraser thrown at high speed at his mouth. The hapless teen was smashed into some nearby chairs. The girl stood indignantly, and her once still face was now contorted in annoyance. "Shut up! It's rude for a commoner like you to interrupt your betters! Haven't you any manners? Even if you are a God of sorts, I won't accept insubordination from a mere human!"

"What-what the hell are you talking about..." Like a zombie clawing free from the grave, Keima arose from the mess of chairs and pointed an accusing finger at the girl. "First off and most importantly: what's the deal with me being a buddy? It sounds like you're dealing with powerful supernatural beings here, so why should you be needing in your words, a human's help? Can't you 'devils' use your powers for that?"

Whack! Down Keima went again. _Damn, forgot about the second eraser! _"It sounds like you haven't been listening. As I have mentioned, a runaway spirit hides within the crevices of a female human's heart. Until it has been released into a tangible form outside the body, it cannot be captured by us."

Up poked Keima's head cautiously. "So if it's in the heart, how the hell can you take it out? Stop that!" Keima cried when he saw the girl heft her scythe at him to throw. "If you've reviewed the backlog of your own little lecture, you haven't yet spoken on how to release the spir-" Whack.

"I was just about to get into that before you so _rudely_ interrupted me before!" yelled a red-cheeked Hakua. After another puff of magical smoke, the screen reappeared, smaller this time and it showed the picture of a heart. "The spirit lodges within the crevice, feeding off the negative emotions that flow through it. If that gap is filled, then the spirit will be forced to leave. Such acts include (but are not limited to) helping the victim succeed, curing someone with a sickness, or possibly finding a mate for someone in love." Hakua's voice lowered. "In rare cases, devils might have to eliminate that someone or something in the victim's way."

Silence filled the classroom. Keima was tilting his head thoughtfully at the pensive girl, but just as he was about to ask another question, Hakua had rebounded and said, "Another, more volatile method is through using 'love'. It's a risky move, but it fills the gap incredibly quick. Most devils won't even have their partners attempt such a move because of the possibilty of the gap resurfacing.

"And that is where you come in Capturing God." Hakua glared disdainfully at a still dumbstruck Keima. "Hell has an interest in expediting the process of capturing spirits, and one of them involves exploring the method of love fully. To that end, I have been _personally _chosen," Hakua blushed a little with pride, "to pioneer this – with your aid of course, as the buddy. As the Capturing God, Hell hopes for impressive data from a being such as you."

"Wh-why have I been chosen again?" Keima was having a bad feeling, so he wiped his glasses quickly before putting them back on tightly.

"Because you're the Capturing God are you not?" Hakua replied irritantly. "Legendary conqueror of a thousand girls, whose fame was enough to elicit a response from Hell itself? Who else but a God like that would Hell turn to for help with the method of 'love'? They wouldn't- _I _wouldn't be risking my life bonding myself to you if you didn't have special attributes. Now come! A runaway spirit is close, and you shall have your first test run!"

"N-n-n-" Keima shuddered, before shouting full force, shaking the whole classroom with his clarion cry, "NEVER! I WILL NEVER ACCEPT THIS! You expect me to behave and come along, good-as-you-please? I may be just a human, but I have the right to refuse anyone! Yes, even if they devils from hell as you claim to be! So there! I REFUSE! Go find another 'buddy' to play with, you cosplaying freak!" Keima's storm of fury was strong enough to faze the normally unflappable Hakua who stared after the boy in shock as he attempted to leave through the door.

"W-Wait a sec!" Keima heard the girl call out from behind him as he turned his attention to his PFP once more. He turned his head to regard the panting girl behind him as he shooed her off, "Go away, like I said, I'm not interested in your shenanigans. I have four more games to complete by the weekend, so I've no time for-"

"If you're not careful..." Hakua said seriously and stared at his neck. "Your head might fall off."

Click! Keima touched his neck and felt a something new there. "What the- what's this?" He attempted to get the nuisance off and turned suspicious eyes toward the girl.

"Idiot human, you have already signed a contract with Hell. If you do not adhere to it, the collar will activate and Hell will take your head as punishment," Hakua said seriously. She had regained the regal composure she'd had before. "The moment you signed that contract, you lost your so-called freedom to choose."

"What contract are you talking about? I never signed any contract-" His eyes widened, recalling that suspicious email he'd received on his PFP just over an hour ago, right before that girl's thunderous arrival. It had seemed a simple request for help (for his games), and strangely offered a choice. _That was the contract? You really are devils!_

"I can't- that's cheating!" Keima said indignantly. "The exact terms of that contract weren't made clear!"

"You agreed to help unconditionally. I believe that is what Dokuro Skull wrote, yes?"

"Well, yeah I agreed to help, but not to _this _extent-"

"Too bad and too late." Hakua waved his complaint off dismissively. "The only way to ensure Hell won't claim your head is if you follow the terms. And this includes helping us – helping _me _capture the spirits through love. Let's start with the one close by shall we?"

"Capturing the spirits through love..." Keima muttered absentmindedly. A sudden thought made him shout for the nth time today, "You mean I have to make Real girls fall in love with me?"

"Yes, that's right." Hakua said matter-of-factly. "Make the girl fall in love with you, crevice is filled, terms of the contract fulfilled, rinse-and-repeat. That should be easy for the Capturing God, right?" she asked for a ready confirmation.

"Haha...as to that, I believe Hell has been operating under a misconception about me." Hakua raised an eyebrow in confusion. Keima raised his hand and adjusted his glasses seriously. "I- have sworn not to hold hands with any Real girl."

"Eh?"

"The world of the Real does not appeal to me! The only world for me is in games! The only girls I conquer are in games!" Keima adjusted his glasses again. "In this world, they call me an Otamegane, derogatory for them, but fitting me quite well. I am the Capturing God of the Virtual Realm, and pathetic Real girls are not included!"

"Wha-wha-" Hakua opened and closed her mouth in succession, her eyes widened in distincitive shock. "But aren't you- the Chief said- and you confirmed-" The girl-devil breathed in, struggling to catch her hyper-ventilating breath. "Don't screw around with me!" This time, the girl's outraged face appeared right in Keima's own, her hands having dropped the scythe and grabbed the front of Keima's shirt.

"Don't screw around with _me!_"

"So you're not the Capturing God after all?"

"I told you that I am, but not of Real girls!"

"Aaaaahhh!" Hakua let go of Keima's shirt and screamed in frustration. "How in Hell did I get myself contracted with this lowborn commoner! And to find out that he isn't the real deal, I- I-"

"You get it already, so take this collar of now! I have no business with you anymore!" Keima's voice was equal if not greater in volume.

"It's not that simple, you idiot! I told you that Hell's contracts are lifebinding – you can't get out of it even if you had Daniel Webster on your side!

"Idiot! Idiot!" Now Keima was being pounded on the head by Hakua's scythe as she straddled him on the floor. _Anyone, please help, there's a maniac- _"-and the life of the devil is bound to the buddy with the contract, if your head gets taken, then _my_ head will be rolling too!"

The sounds of the rhythmic slamming of Keima's head into the floor and Hakua's screams were carried off relatively unheard into the silence of the lazy afternoon...

An hour later, after the cooler emotions had taken over, Keima sat dejectively at the desk of an empty classroom. Before him stomped a fuming Hakua, who was seemingly contacting her superiors with that skull of hers.

_What kind of messed-up situation is this? _Keima thought to himself. _This scene chunk's certainly leading to an undesirable scenario – why the hell did this Hell take notice of me of all people? Are they not smart enough to tell which is which in the human world?_

And now his life span had been shortened considerably, what with the constant throbbing pains he'd been feeling in his neck ever since, threatening the doom Hakua had described. Keima half-imagined abruptly feeling a moment of light-headedness, followed with the view of his headless body from the floor – as was described several times on many of his games.

Keima re-examined his other options. Moments before, he'd suggested to Hakua on getting it all cleared up with a lawyer from hell ("Are you stupid?"), It was the only option he knew of besides appealing to another magical being specialized in breaking contracts, but the chance of that was low. And quite troublesome to this otaku teenager.

The last, highly undesirable resort left was to go ahead with the falling-in-love part.

...

NEVER! NOT IN A MILLION YEARS, EVEN IF I'M REINCARNATED!

The Capturing God had his qualities, had his skills, and also had his own principles to follow. And one of them was the complete rejection of the real, and that included associating with real girls.

_Damn it, I need to clear my head. _Keima's thoughts were a burbling mess in his head, and that wasn't good to someone who stockpiled millions of pages of walkthroughs meticulously saved for easy recollection into his brain.

In order to clear his head, Keima thought begrudgingly, he'd have to do "that". Keima looked back up at the girl. She was now screaming incoherently into her toy skull and swinging her scythe around dangerously.

_Let's do it._

Yes, he'd really had to "that". His blood was pounding at him to go. There was no recourse.

"Oi, you crazy devil." Keima called out, already having stood up from his chair.

'What?" Hakua said venomously, red eyes glinting like a snake in the shade.

"I have to go to the bathroom, I'll be right back okay?"

"Whatever, you commoner! I'm gonna be killing you anyway after this contract has been negotiated, so enjoy your last pleasures..."

Keima let the spine-shivering maddened laughter of the girl wash over him as he made his way to the nearest bathroom. As he went, his hands sought the familiar warmth of his PFP, and with one hand, he changed the game on display.

After locking himself in the furthest stall, Keima brought up the PFP to eye level and shivered in anticipation as he unzipped his pants...

_It's been a long time, eh Keima?_

_Shut up! I've just done it two weeks ago!_

_And two weeks is a long time...a healthy human male would not have lasted two days..._

_Disgusting! Disgusting!_

_How dare you say that! It is one of the most beautiful things man has discovered to do! Like sleep, it is one of the few pleasures available to humans! You have to enjoy it to the fullest!  
_

_Funny you refer to me as a human...let me ask you, are you a devil?_

_Haha..what makes you say that?_

_If you are, then I think I've just met one of your brethren just now. So?_

_I'd be more inclined to answer if you agree to my demands for once.._

_Once again, every one wants something from me! The Real is indeed an unreliable place..._

_But not as unreliable a human as you, eh, Keima nii-sama?_

Keima let the giggles in his head subside as he tidied up inside the stall and flushed the toilet. He examined his PFP for any dirt before putting it away, and exited out of the stall. He paused to wash his hands thoroughly at the sink and wiped them off surreptiously before opening the door back to the corridor.

He was met by the thunderous visage of Hakua, who was as easily shocked by the sudden opening of the door.

"Wha-!"

"Wh-what are you doing here?" Keima stuttered as he averted his eyes, patting his pocket to make sure his PFP was safely inside.

"I-I should be asking you that q-question. Were you planning to run away?" Hakua muttered as she too averted her blushing face to the side.

Keima paused to look at the girl-devil, before sighing and tapping his glasses. _My head really does feel clear after "that". _Clearing his head, he put his hands on a surprised Hakua's shoulders as he steered her back to the classroom.

POW! Keima was blown to the side as Hakua lashed out. "C-c-commoner! You dare touch a genius devil such as myself so casually! You really have no tact, worm!"

Hakua stormed off in red-faced fury back to the classroom. Keima groaned in pain as he slowly stumbled after her.

Back in the classroom, Keima found Hakua again fiddling with that skull-device and working the magic with that pink cloth of hers. He took a seat in a nearby chair and stared gloomily at the blackboard.

A few tense and uneasy moments of silence followed, with neither having the nerve to speak up about anything. Hakua continued to talk to her skull, and Keima continued to brood gloomily at everywhere.

Finally, it was Keima who broke the standoff as he stood and stretched, before walking towards Hakua. He found his way blocked by the scythe's blades.

"Not one step closer, commoner." Hakua said dangerously. "I won't be manhandled by the likes of you again."

"I was merely going to put forth a supposition. What if, theoretically, I were to...conquer this target of yours – whoever this Real girl is. If I did that and got the Spirit for you, will that meet the terms of the contract?"

"Obviously," Hakua huffed. "But I know just as well as you do that that won't happen, so forgive me if I don't jump in joy."

"Oh? So you doubt my chances of success?" Keima's eyes glinted in the afternoon lights.

"Of course! An annoying creature such as you could never hope to snag a girl so easily. It's simple fact." Hakua said with an air of finality.

"We shall see about that." Keima said, his voice carrying with it a supreme, brimming confidence.

"Huh?" Hakua looked back to the boy, who was now pushing his glasses to his face and rubbing his chin seriously.

"Very well then, Devil-san, I shall capture your Spirit for you and fulfill my contract. That is my oath," Keima's clear, cold eyes now stared right into Hakua, exuding a force that almost overwhelmed her senses for some reason. "I will capture whoever girl it is with my skills as God, and with my experience as God. Hell shall have its prize, and you shall succeed beyond your wildest expectations."

_Was that a gentle look on his eyes just now? _Hakua almost blushed at the thought, so mesmerized was she at Keima's renewed figure. She couldn't even find the will to retort in the face of such. It was like...staring into the eyes of...

"That is my oath...as the Capturing God."


	2. Capture the Flag to Capture the Runner?

AN: 11/26/2010: Sorry again, Anarchy readers, still no computer. This is the second chapter, complete with my experimental branches. This will be the last work I shall upload in a while, reading all these unfinished stories is depressing me. Perhaps Christmas will be a good time for me to start over...with a fresh batch of chapters!

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_"This is my oath...as the Capturing God."_

Hakua stood there for a few seconds before pulling up her scythe and tapping it at the floor, turning around and knocking at the chairtops before abruptly turning back and exclaim, "Huh?"

"I told you. I've agreed to take on this ridiculous contract even if it presents me with a bad end. It's going to be a bad end either way, so I have no other recourse." Keima said in a determined tone.

"B-b-bu-bwahaha!" Hakua couldn't help but laugh uproariously at Keima's face. "Th-that's a good one, commoner! Do you really think a lowborn human like you can achieve love with _your _measly experience? Before, I doubted what the Chief said because of your apparent youth, and now that your secret's out, my evaluation of you's gone back to where it was – mediocre." The girl-devil snorted in amusement as she pointed at Keima, "You're no God, you're a gamer!"

Keima retorted with annoyed vehemence, "Ridicule me if you must, Devil, but do not underestimate the power of a human. Let us first see if your scorn has its justification. Show me this victim of yours – I," Keima's eyes burned with a cold, manic fury, "will put your foolish doubts to rest."

_What is with this human? _Hakua thought as she was again taken aback by the sudden change in the commoner's demeanor. Well, whatever delusion he might be in, that would soon come to rest as soon as the contract in Hell was cleared up. Which should be soon. Very soon.

So, Hakua decided to humor the human's last days on this realm.

"The runaway spirit has hidden itself in one Takahara Ayumi, of Class 2-B." After another annoying display of pink puffs, Hakua's magical screen displayed the supposed victim. _Ayumi...if I remember correctly, she's in my class... _"From what my preliminary scouting has garnered, she is the member of this school's track-and-field team, and has quite the energetic, youthful personality. I would like to see how _you _will be able to win her over through love, human." Hakua smirked sidewise at Keima. "Even if there were the slight possibility, the odds are closing to zero."

Keima had a studious look on his face as he scrutinized the image of the victim displayed on the pink screen. _Since I've decided to do this, might as well pull out all the stops here... _The boy closed his eyes briefly in thought before nodding and waving at Hakua dismissively. "I've got the basic gist from the bare information you've given me." Keima walked over to the windowside in thought.

"So I really have to do this using love?" he asked in what he thought was the river-crossing moment of his life.

"Yes, according to the terms of the contract. If the spirit were captured in any other way, your- _our _heads will still roll."

"I see. Well, we have no other choice then." Keima turned his head to smile confidently at Hakua, who quickly averted her gaze determinedly. "Let's go _'_capture' her."

Above all things, Keima was feeling quite bothered at the moment. He had certainly cleared his head a bit after doing "that", but not even "that" could help him find a reasonable escape out of this potential bad end.

The alternative he'd found and decided to act upon was unpleasant, but Keima deemed it to be necessary.

"The first order of business is to adhere to the first Rule: a girl is unattainable without any one flag."

"What are you mumbling about?" Hakua asked irately as she leaned on the railing beside Keima as they looked down on the track-and-field team practicing below them.

"In order to 'capture' this girl, I first have to set the appropriate flags. As the victim's invisible 'affection counter' in relation to my person is, in my experience, negative, I shall have to work to convert that into positives."

"Are you talking about a technique or something?" _I can't believe I'm going along with this guy._

"Nope, I'm merely outlining what I have to do," Keima explained as he kept his eyes on the running figures below. "To convert the negativity into positive feelings (and eventually, love), I have to raise many flags. To that end, you- er-" the boy hesitated as he looked to his left at a confused Hakua. "Wh-what should I call you again?"

Hakua blinked. "You've got no time for that, commoner! First, you have to show me that you can capture that thing, then I'll allow you to call me by my name!"

"But don't you think it's a bit inconvenient?" Keima pressed his words as he still remained on a neutral pose. "I can't keep calling you 'you', or She-devil, or girl-demon, it just feels bad. It's like that annoying mysterious new character whose name is always '?' until they're properly introduced."

"W-well, if you must know," Hakua conceded, rubbing her head mentally at the commoner's insufferable nerve. "I told you before, it's- well, you can call me Hakua."

Keima took a deep breath. "Good. Well then, Hakua, you can call me Keima, or Katsuragi, if you prefer," he presented his hand together with a flourishing smile. "Let's cooperate well-"

Whack!

Hakua towered in fury over a prone Capturing God as she pointed at him in righteous devil-anger. "It's a million years too early for a simple _commoner _like you to call me by my right name! Kn-know your place!"

Keima grunted and rubbed his throbbing head in annoyance as he mumbled, "I was only trying to smooth future conversations, sheesh." Then his eyes narrowed in realization as his eyes swept over the field.

"Hakua, for the sake of the capture, do you think I could borrow some of your out-of-this-realm magic?"

Some minutes of rapid beatings and a proud explanation of Hakua's magical abilities later, there was now a large, building-sized purple banner draped over the side of the building that faced the track field.

On it was written the bright, gaudy words: "Run freely! Takahara Ayumi!"

Just as an ancient king was deeply disturbed by the proverbial writing on the wall, so was the girl herself in question deeply embarrassed and angry at whoever was behind that sudden display.

"Huh? Where did that come from?" "Did Ayumi have any admirers?" "Must've paid a lot..."

Ayumi was desperately explaining, with a noticeable blush in her face, to her friends and team-mates that it was all just a twisted understanding.

It became one of the hot topics in the school, and the next day, many whispers followed the bewildered girl in the corridors. Ayumi herself thought that it would all blow over later once the culprit was found, and then she could give whoever it was a piece of her mind.

Later that afternoon, she was again surprised when the contents of the banner changed, it now read: "Do your best! Ayumi-chan!" (with a heart at the end) Ayumi wanted to hide in a deep, dark corner from the sheer embarassment she felt from her now teasing teammates.

_Oh my god, who's crazy enough to be doing this? I wish I could tear that banner down!_

Throughout practice, the rest of the track-and-field team, including their advisor, were now convinced that Ayumi had a determined suitor. It was because several more smaller, encouraging (and heartful) banners had been placed all around the field without anyone noticing.

"Wh-who the heck's doing all that? It m-must be a prank or something-!" was her weak response.

That afternoon, she decided she would use some time off practice to catch whoever was responsible directly in the act. So the next day, she skivved off lunch to head quickly to the rooftop. If her guess was correct, the culprit would probably be up there working on the next prank.

The girl's thoughts were filled with murderous glee as she passed each flight of stairs to the roof. When she reached the door, she cautiously opened the noisy door and peeked around the opening.

_There! _Oh, she'd found the cuprit alright. And he was distracted too, busy crouching down on the hot floor, obviously working on his next humiliating prank.

"HEY! I caught you, you, moron! How dare you put those stupid banners up the past two days!" With the force of a tiny cannonball, track-and-field runner Takahara Ayumi dashed up and kicked one Capturing God to the side. He made a beautiful arc as he was blasted away...

"K-k-Katsuragi?" Ayumi's eyes widened as soon as the (imaginary) dust settled. There lay the bruised God, who moaned in pain as he groggily stood to his feet. Beside him, on the ground, was apparently the next banner, and it now read "Go! Ayumi of the Sprinting Wind!"

"A-Ayumi-san, what could you be doing here, I wonder...?" Keima began while trying to hide a growing blush.

"What's the meaning of this Katsuragi? Were you really the one responsible for those banners? What are you planning you Otamegane!" Ayumi shouted her frustrations out.

"I-I was just-" Keima began.

"You were just what? Making fun of me? Making me embarassed? Is this harrassment from when I had you do the cleaning before, moron?"

"N-no! Nothing of the sort! I-I-" Keima looked to the side where the unfinished banner was, before breathing in deeply and looking up straight at Ayumi with a determined, soulful look. "I can't believe I'm quoting a game like this-! Ayumi! I like you! Pl-please go out with me!"

There, it was all out. The confession seemed to echo in the stillness of the rooftop, but there was no romantic atmosphere here.

One. Two. Three seconds of silence before Ayumi's face scrunched up in disgust and turned her back coldly. "Rejected." She turned her head back and stuck her tongue out disparagingly at a gloomy Keima, and said, "I don't want to go out with an unreliable Otamega like you. See you later, moron."

She hoped she was able to get her point across as she stomped half-heartedly at the surprisingly resilient banner, before she made a huffing sound and stalked back into the school building.

Moments after she was gone, a poofing sound could be heard, and Hakua materialized next to a thoughtful Keima.

"That was close! If that door hadn't been rusted around the edges, that girl could've seen me," Hakua patted her clothes before turning to Keima. "So? Was that all you could do, commoner? That was a very clear rejection right there." Hakua smirked slyly at Keima.

The Capturing God crossed his arms and put his chin thoughtfully on top his hand while muttering, "This event was certainly unexpected, but it isn't really relevant to the overall route."

"Huh?"

"Listen, Hakua ("I told you not to call me that!") I said before that the hypothetical meter that represents the girls' emotions had to be filled with positive energy, right? " He waited for her reluctant nod. "As it stands, it is impossible for one such as me to get those positive flags directly as – I have not any flags to begin with. What I did with the banners was just that, setting some anonymous flags that hopefully sent the message that someone at least was concerned with her."

"And I think it backfired. She now thinks you're a moronic freak aside from being this 'Otamega'."

"Again, I admit that this occurence hadn't occured to me, but this recent event doesn't change things. No," Keima looked up thoughtfully. "Rather, it may have just been the proper trigger."

"So you're saying it's a good thing?" Hakua asked doubtfully as she fixed the damaged banner with a wave of her scythe.

"In a way, yes. The route's events are getting along nicely." Keima touched the contract collar around his neck. "Now, I have to take up the role of the protagonist." He fished the PFP out of his pocket as he too followed Ayumi back into the building. "Same thing this afternoon."

The afternoon sessions passed by in a blur, with Ayumi shooting Keima murderous secret glances from her seat. These went unnoticed by the boy who kept his focus on his PFP screen.

_What's with that guy? _Ayumi had those type of thoughts swirling around in her mind as she watched the game-loving idiot receive another beating from an irritated teacher. She could hardly imagine that this obvious weird otaku would have an interest in her at all.

_Is it because he's that desperate or something?_

Ayumi watched as Keima mysteriously bolted out of the last period in the afternoon, clutching the front of his pants like some dork. _Oh well, time for practice. I think that guy's learned his lesson. I hope he did. _Because of that thought, Ayumi happily spent the rest of the afternoon free of the murderous thoughts she'd had over the past days.

When she heard her friends giggle in the middle of practice though, Ayumi knew then that the idiot was stil at it. She turned in the middle of the run to see another set of banners ringed around the field, each with a different yet still embarrassing message on them.

But this time, the idiot himself stood there, seemingly proud under one of the banners.

Ayumi then became like a cannonball changing its vector mid-flight as she quickly dashed around the curve in the track, up the stairs straight into a swift kick to the Otamega.

"WHAT? WHAT IS IT? YOU'RE STILL NOT GIVING THIS A REST, YOU CREEP?" Ayumi literally howled from the sheer embarrassment. _Now everyone's gonna find out that this creep's the one interested in me!_

"You're so persistent, why don't you go play your stupid games and leave me alone!" She went back down to the field, keeping a straight face despite the spectacle she'd just let the rest of the team witness.

Whispers of "So it's that Otamega," "Ayumi, huh.." followed like bothersome buzzings of flies. _What IS that jerk planning?_

"Hey, you. I want to know why you're doing all this." Practice had ended, and the few members who were tasked to putting away all the equipment were the only ones left in the school. Ayumi had changed back to her school uniform and was now confronting the infamous Otomega.

"It's creepy getting all this attention from you. I want to know if you want something from me – anything! - so you can stop this idiotic game."

"I just..." The Otamega sighed. Then he stared seriously into her eyes. "Ayumi-san, aren't my reasons clear enough for you?"

"Wha-" Ayumi blushed, _Why am I blushing? "_B-b-but, why would someone like you be interested in me? Aren't your games important to you or something?" Had that all been a lie? Had he been watching her all this time? _Oh no, now's not the time for thoughts like that! "_Well?" She stood with arms akimbo, waiting for Keima to answer.

"Ayumi, it is true that to the eyes of the class, I am nothing more but 'that Otomega'," Keima responded after a heartfelt pause. "But even with that, I am still a young boy with feelings in his heart! When I saw you running, months ago, I thought to myself: 'Keima, there goes a girl who isn't afraid to run as fast as she can.' And from then on, I admired your energy, your exuberance." Keima's eyes then took on a misty quality, as he seemed to be watching something far away. "When you always take on new challenges with a confident, challenging smile, when you achieved many things and you smiled your bright smile, I liked it from afar."

_Oh God, why is this guy spouting stuff like this? _Ayumi's thoughts raced in a flurry of confusion.

"..and I liked the way you would tie up your hair when you claimed it had the power to make you run faster. To me, it seemed that no matter the day, you would always be prepared.

"Always, always I've watched, but never said how I felt. Everyday, I accepted everyone's jokes about me, about me being an 'Otamega', because it was too late to change everything." Keima now locked gentle eyes with Ayumi. Ayumi felt her shoulders tense. "Ayumi-san, now I have taken that step. And just like you, I won't be giving up yet. I know my confession was too abrupt, and I accept that. So now, I'll be asking differently."

Keima bowed low, "Ayumi-san! Please let me support you will all my heart!"

"So she actually agreed, huh?" Hakua muttered as she stood by a sitting Keima under the starlit sky on top of the deserted school.

"Everything went better than expected," Keima muttered without looking up from the screen.

"But it's still not love yet, or I'd be drowning myself in a sea of fire in embarrassment," the She-devil chuckled darkly.

"Of course, a route like this needs to be cultivated. Since I'm not worried about everyone keeping their memories after this 'capture', I'm going all out with the affection flags."

"And you'll have Hell to thank later for that. If it happens," Hakua added as an amused afterthought. "Though it's gonna be troublesome for us, especially with-"

"Troublesome?" Keima interrupted, slamming his foot on the ground. "Oh, you Hell devils can't even begin to understand the meaning of that word when it comes to me!" Keima turned around and walked back into the darkened building. "Troublesome, huh."

"What's his problem?" Hakua muttered as she stared after Keima, before she disappeared in a puff of purple smoke.

Back in his house, Keima fumed while he stewed in the lukewarm waters in his bath. He was still playing on the PFP of course, since it was bound inside a waterproof see-through bag.

"Making me jump through hoops to accomplish a real-life capture...the nerve of those devils..."

_Well then, you should just leave it all to me then, nii-sama! _

"Shut up, I didn't call for you." Keima muttered. He groaned tiredly when he felt "that" awaken like it always did.

_That pretentious devil thinks she can walk all around your body, isn't it about time you just...let it all out?_

The sinister whisper made Keima shiver while still submerged in the tepid water, and he couldn't resist putting the PFP away and letting his hands wander on down.

_My offer still keeps standing, nii-sama...Just a little effort from your part, and I can guarantee you will feel pleasure beyond imagining...Free from any obligation..._

He had a love/hate relationship whenever it came to "it". Try as he might to hate "it", it was his only companion in the Real. Keima rubbed harder, more to finish it quickly so he could get to bed.

_Make sure to clean it all up eh, nii-sama?..._

The teen groaned and arched his back as he let the disgusting act reach its end.

The next day, his head was clear as he met with Hakua again for the day's plans.

"Hey commoner, why don't we have a little bet?" Keima looked back at a thoughtful grinning Hakua in confusion. "Since I know you'll angrily reject my opinion that you won't be able to do it at all, let's have a contest to see if you can capture that girl within the week."

"Oh really?" Keima said carefully. _My- our lives are on the line and the devil wants to play a game? _"And what are the terms?"

"If I win, I get to do anything I want with your pathetic human body." Hakua's eyes glittered – well, demonically.

"Hmm..." Keima tapped the surface of his PFP pensively. "I guess I'll just have to do whatever I want with your body then. And don't worry, I'll be sure to _try _not to win that well." He turned to enter the school with a strutting gait.

"Hmph! I'd like to see you- wait!" Hakua launched and flew herself over Keima and down in front of him. "Not everything, okay!" She cried shamefully. "Just-" she twisted her hands around her scythe nervously. "With limits," she muttered.

Keima casually sidestepped her as he continue on his way to school. "You watch, Hakua. I'll be sure to capture that girl's heart quickly. And right in time to finish this damned contract," he added to himself.

The target, on the other hand, was desperately hoping that that embarrasing scene from the day before had been just a psychotic break, or a delusional dream. Surely she would not have agreed to Otamega's proposal so readily like that! It wasn't like she'd been moved by his words or anything!

But alas, all those hopes were dashed when he saw that idiot smile nervously at her as soon as she entered the class. And with not a PFP in plain sight? Could he be playing under the table? _But I can see his hands..._

She forced herself not to respond to that smile, and so went to her seat in silence. All throughout the day, Ayumi watched the Otamega miraculously not paying attention to his PFP for once, and was now being the genius that some of their teachers claimed him to be. He answered questions promptly and accurately, causing mostly everyone to crane their heads and stare in unbound amazement at this unannounced change.

When some people asked, Keima responded that he was giving up on gaming for a while, because he had a special reason for doing so. _Oh really. _And through all the questions, he'd put on that infuriatingly gentle smile that seemed to disarm most who saw.

Twice she'd caught him sneaking a glance at her, and one of those times she turned her head and stuck out her tongue when she thought no one was looking. Keima responded with a silent chuckle, before beaming and turning his attention to the class again.

When classes were dismissed, Ayumi was first out of the room, zipping out the door like a cannonball taking flight. She so desperately wanted to avoid it, but there was no mistaking the sound of footsteps following behind her: the Otamega was hot on her heels.

"Listen!" She called over her shoulder. "I appreciate the effort you're puttig into making me impressed, but one day of that won't be enough to affect me. You may have most of them fooled, but I know what you're planning you, you-"

"-Perverted Otamega!"

Most everyone in the team knew of Keima's involvement now, of course. They had already accepted the banners as some sort of bizarre wooing ritual from the infamous Otamega, but the very fact that it was their own energetic Ayumi who'd caught the nerd's heart was something her friends would be talking about for days to come.

This time, there were new banners strung around, with brand new messages. Keima stood below one of them like a statue, although whenever he thought she was looking, he waved mini-flags with her name on it with a hearty cheer.

_The Otamega is really insistent, I'll give the guy that. _She was having trouble concentrating on her runs because of the awareness that a certain pair of eyes were following her every move from above. When she could no longer tolerate the slow speeds, she resorted to being "serious."

"Whoohoo! Full speed to the finish line, Ayumi-san!" She went full speed, indeed, dashing right up and smacking the moron to the ground.

Ayumi then felt an odd smile on her face as she went through the rest of practice.

There were snide, but approving smiles all around when the team caught sight of Keima holding a pair of drink cans in his hands. Ayumi's face turned a shade of red as she furiously ordered the Otamega to the side. Strangely enough, her teammates were content to let her be as she dragged Keima to the steps overlooking the field.

Keima didn't complain when she grabbed the two cans from his hands and started sucking on them greedily, while she kept a certain distance from the sitting Otamega.

"You were at your prime form, Ayumi-san."

"What was with all this, geez! Is this what you meant by being supportive? I've been having a lot of trouble instead because of you!" she told Keima as she sat and drank from the can.

"But this is all I can do for now, Ayumi-san." Ayumi turned her head to look, and quickly brought it back to face the front. _That smile! _ "Besides preparing something cool for you to drink and supporting you from the sidelines, I'm afraid there's nothing more that I can do – _in this current situation. _If you will only allow me-" Keima paused, before lapsing back into a troubled silence. Ayumi peeked over the top of her can at an introspective Keima.

She stood to throw the cans away, stuck in her own tumutltuous thoughts. When she returned, she found Keima still in the same position, hunched over himself.

_I know I'm gonna regret this somehow._

"Hey, Otamega." Keima looked up. "Walk with me?" She stopped. "But not all the way! Only to the gates." She nodded as if trying to convince herself.

"O-of course, Ayumi-san. I'd be glad to!" Keima looked really happy too.

It was only to the nearby gates, but Ayumi found herself walking a bit slower than usual after she struck up a conversation with Keima. To her great surprise, she found that the Otamega could keep up with a normal conversation, despite all accounts to the contrary from before. They ended up talking mostly about herself, since Keima couldn't offer much information about himself aside from his current lifestyle.

_Well of course, until now, his precious games seemed to be his world!_

When something funny came up, Keima would chuckle first, before Ayumi would join in with her own (nervous) laughter. And then she would stop, because she'd realize then she'd just laughed. Together with the Otamega.

And it didn't feel bad!

"Alright, this is the stop see you later, Katsuragi!" She said rapidly in goodbye, before dashing away.

Keima watched her go with a fond look on his face, but when he was sure she wouldn't be coming back, his face adopted his analytic scowl once more.

A poofing sound behind him caused him to turn around to nod at the appeared devil. Keima nodded at Hakua curtly before leaving the gates himself.

"Hey!" Hakua called after him. "That's one day down, commoner!" _Don't be so loud, devil!_

During the night, Keima feverishly played and re-played his favorite games. The withdrawal from not playing any games over the day had finally gotten to him. He didn't even have any time to do "that".

The second day passed with little change, although Ayumi seemed to have become a little more open around him not just during practice, but in class as well (though she didn't let it become too obvious to everyone else), and then came the third day,

Keima was already feeling the stress from keeping up his "other front" for Ayumi's sake, and each smile he made seemed to stretch his face muscles thin and strained.

"I don't understand. Then, what's the miracle love method if you're just doing what other mortals do to woo somebody? That one-week bet wasn't just a bet, it was also a challenge for us, commoner. If you have to resort to waiting a long time before capturing, then it'll just prove that the love option isn't that optimal after all," Hakua explained as she floated lazily in the air, invisible, above a playing Keima on the rooftop.

"Hakua, as I've mentioned before, think of this route as a plant. It takes a little cultivating here and there, but it'll get there with continued tending."

"But don't plants grow slow? That's the point I was trying to make!" Hakua cried in annoyance. "Here's another runaway spirit lesson for you. The longer it takes for that spirit to lodge within the victim, the stronger it gets from the negative emotions inside it. Eventually, it'll be nurtured just as much as your imaginary plant inside the target's heart, and if it reaches that point, it'll become too powerful for a single devil to combat."

"Too powerful for you then?" Whack! As Keima lay facedown, his mind zeroed in on what Hakua said. _Since Ayumi really has a runaway spirit, then it's certain that she has negative emotions that are feeding it. But I don't sense it from our talks. I'm missing something!_

"Without the conflict, the route will not progress..." Keima mumbled in a form of mantra to himself as he went back to the classroom, grudgingly putting away his PFP beforehand. _Curse this forced appearance!_

The afternoon classes concluded, and Keima found himself walking down to the field side-by-side (though at a distance) with Ayumi. He kept his gentle mask on, but held off on asking probing questions. _It would only give false signals._

"The code of the silent hunter is to wait for the precise time to strike," Keima muttered as he took shade from the afternoon heat under a tree. Hakua sat above him on the branches and sighed, "And what are you talking about, again?"

"I have been sending the illusion of a genuine love interest to the target, but it is still not enough. If I am to win (and by the way, I will be), I must know what troubles her. How else could she have acquired that gap if not because of that?"

"Well, it's not unusual for strange gaps to appear with just a slight prod. For example, a human might find herself lost on the way home, and a gap would still form from the feeling of helplessness. That's usually how gaps form in human children," Hakua answered from above.

"Gaps can form from something as small as that?" Keima raised his eyebrows. "Is the human heart that weak?"

"Aren't you a human too?"

"I'm a God!"

"Ayumi!" A girl's voice from down below caught the two's ears. Curiously, they both watched the ensuing conversation on the field below.

Just when Ayumi thought everything was settled (though that Otamega was still a pain to deal with), a new worry resurfaced. When she heard some of her upperclassmen call for her as she practiced, she knew, instinctively, that something was up.

"Wh-what is it?" she was breathing rapidly, both from the run and the new feeling. She ran up to the trio of upperclassmen who'd called.

"Why are you taking the going on ahead and practicing?" One of them demanded. "Aren't the second years supposed to do stationary practices while _we're _supposed to do the practice runs?"

_B-but the next meet's soon! _She bowed repeatedly, "I was only going to practice for the upcoming meet, since it's really important for all of us as a team, right?"

Smug looks appeared on their faces, "Y'hear that? She's saying it like she's a regular runner?" "Was she going to be part of the meet?"

"Listen, Ayumi," one of them jeered as she jabbed a finger into Ayumi's shoulder. "Just because you had an impressive time once doesn't mean you get to be all special. It's true that you were chosen because of it, but you aren't even a regular yet, so you shouldn't be acting all cocky!"

_I don't want any trouble! I just want to run! _Ayumi kept on apologizing, "I'm sorry, but it's really important since the meet's about to come up! So please punish me about my mistake now so I can practice?"

"Still going on about that?" The other smirked, and pointed a finger back at the track, "Then go! Run ten, no thirty laps! That's your punishment, and you get to practice right? Scoot!"

Obeying readily, Ayumi turned and hurriedly restarted her running laps.

"She has a meet coming soon...is that possibly the cause of her gap?" Hakua wondered. "Commoner?" She looked down at Keima, who had a critical, withdrawn look on his face. "Hey! Is that the cause of her gap? I don't think love's gonna be able to solve it, after all! Hah! I win! I win!"

As Hakua cheered like some comical, scythe-wielding creature on the tree above, Keima contemplated the "event" he'd just seen. _That's still not the whole picture, but..._

"But wait, I forgot it's my head too!" Hakua put a hand to her mouth after a dread reminder of her fate.

Keima ignored the devil's recriminations and focused his eyes on Ayumi, who dutifully followed her upperclassmen's demands even if her clothes were soaked in sweat and her breaths started to fall in ragged gasps...

Most of the team had already left by the time Ayumi was done with her laps. Only her friends in the team stayed behind to offer encouraging words, yet they too left when they saw who it was approaching.

Keima Katsuragi smiled down at her, but she caught the look of worry in his eyes. She pushed past him into the locker room to get changed, determined not to talk with him ever again.

But that thought didn't stop her from sighing in a mixture of relief and exasperation once she got out of the locker room to see Katsuragi carrying a several cans in his arms. She discreetly swiped one from Keima's proffered hands as she started to walk away. Katsuragi fell in step with her, and said those words: "You were doing good work today, Ayumi-san! With this, the meet-"

"Sorry!" She said abruptly as she stopped walking and caused Katsuragi to walk a few more steps. She held the can close to her chest and continued, "I'm sorry you had to see that fiasco back there. That was pretty pathetic of me, right?

"Of course, I knew from the first time I joined that-" Ayumi halted.

Keima looked at Ayumi's visage in concern as she kept her head bowed. He was thinking of many scenarios in his head, flashing through them like a fast-forwarding slideshow. There was that feeling of deja vu, and he didn't want to screw this up now. _Damn it, if only there was a save point in the stupid Real! _Usually, this would be the perfect time for the protagonist to respond, to take action, anything that was appropriate to this situatiion. Perhaps if he-

"Never mind! That's nothing to be worried about!" Keima's thoughts screeched to a standstill when he heard Ayumi speak up first. He saw her with a small smile now as she lifted her head patted her hair with her free hand. "Why am I focusing on that right now, eh?" She took a deep breath, before restarting her pace with a renewed vigor. Keima hurried to follow her, his mind assessing the new informaton.

"After all, Katsuragi believes in me because I keep going forward – so that's what I should be doing!"

Like a falling leaf, Hakua descended noiselessly beside Keima who'd been standing at the gates for a while. She saw that he was holding a grim expression on his face, and just as he was about to ask, the commoner looked sideways at her and shrugged.

"Everything's going well, Hakua."

"Why do you say that? You have this troubled look on your face."

"Oh this?" Keima pointed to his cheek. "I don't know how you assess people's feelings from their faces, but I'm certainly not troubled." Keima turned to look out of the gates. "At least, not for me," he added before lapsing back into pensive silence.

Hakua stared for a few moments at that face again, before turning around and muttering, "It's halfway down the week now. You've got less than that to fulfill your debt. And safeguard our heads."

"I know." Keima said nonchalantly. "If not tomorrow, then possibly the day after. We won't reach day seven." The Capturing God left an incredulous Hakua at the school gates, already inputting commands in his PFP.

_I am frustrated_

_Shut up!_

_Its been so long niisama since youve released now im hungryyyy_

_I don't have time for that stuff now, I've got an important job!_

_Then finish it up dont make me beg_

_I don't have to answer to a voice!_

_Youmake me beg and your body will suffer_

Keima slammed the bathroom door shut, towel wrapped around his uncomfortable lower part and dashed down the hall to his room.

It took a few routes in the new games before he was able to calm down.

The next day was a Saturday, and classes would end at lunch. Usually, Keima would be antsy for dismissal time so he could head out into the city and purchase the new games that would usually come out in the weekends. He'd done it last week, and the other week before, and then that week before when the games were subpar...It should have been what he should be doing, instead...

He now had a devil who always nagged him.

He now wore a collar that would kill him.

He couldn't play games because that would affect the target.

He had that thing down there that shouldn't be bothering him.

And most importantly, he couldn't anticipate the end of class because he had to be there for Ayumi all throughout the afternoon.

When the lunch bell was close to ringing, Keima was seriously debating whether or not to put off today's events and extend the capture for a day. There shouldn't be any averse consequences right? Not when _Imaginary Future IV _was being released soon, the newest in a series of one of the games he liked!

Inner Keima roared in agony at the prickly thorn(s) that were stuck in his paw. _This __cannot be..._

But when Keima noticed Ayumi's gaze flicker over to him every once in a while, he knew he was stuck while the route had already taken off on its maiden voyage.

_Oh Real, how I hate thee!_

"What now? You look worried today, commoner." Hakua derided from the side. Several large ad balloons now floated softly in the breeze, each carrying a new message of love and encouragement to Ayumi. Hakua felt a little proud when making the banners, since they needed a lot more magic to make; though she'd been a bit peeved when the Capturing God ordered some of them out because "three were enough".

"Of course I look – not worried, uneasy! I'm feeling this way because of a certain contract an idiotic organization put on me that's depriving me of my rightful lifestyle as a God!" Keima shot back with a strained look on his furious face. "As for the target, the route _is _heading down the expected path. I wasn't kidding when I said it would be over today, or the next day."

"Why are you allowing for two days? Is there something about this so-called 'route' that measures to that amount of time?" the she-devil asked off-handedly.

Keima rubbed his temple with his fingertips and took several measured breaths. "Unlike games, the Real is primarily an unpredictable sate of affairs. Who knows what might occur today, or the next day? When you compare it to games, where it is possible to extrapolate the amount of days remaining in the route, the Real has way too many variables that give it its unpredictability!"

"I don't get it." Hakua walked over to another tree and sat down below it "The 'real' as you call it, is certainly unpredictable, and there isn't a devil in hell that can refute that – it's one of the facts of life. Because my question would be, how arrogant a commoner are you to think that the future can be predicted so easily from just your eyes?"

"Listen, you devil," The Capturing God pointed a finger at Hakua. "I have predicted the route of _my _life for months now. I have taken into account several big events that are yet to be. I have set my lifestyle in a way that there should be only repetition as each day passes: classes are prepared for, tests are predicted and passed, homework is done the day it is passed, and any extracurriculars are dodged like a rabid dog.

"Whatever slight deviations happen on each day, I will forestall, throw away, yes even take responsibility for if it leads to the quicker path. The entirety of my life is based on the menial living of this 'Real' and the eventual bliss that I shall enjoy once I enter my personal playground. It will not be wrong to say that I, as the Capturing God, have set myself high above the level of humans, and that I have transcended the whimsicalities of the Real.

"Yet I am aggrieved to say that sometimes the big events do come that are unlooked-for. Such has been the case several times before, and so is this particular case now." Keima dragged at his collar again, letting it strain against his neck. "You, and that Hellish organization that you belong to, are now the big event that has soiled the purity of my route, and like the conflict that the protagonist must overcome during the common route, so too, shall I overcome you and return to the days that were and should have been." Keima took a huge breath in and out.

"Hakua, I dislike you." The she-devil looked thunderstruck. "I don't like you as much as I dislike the Real. But I have no choice but to bear this event with you, for the good of the contract. As I trust you to work your wonderous magic to achieve what should be impossible for the Real; you must also trust in me to be done with this job in that amount of time. For I am the Capturing God." Keima held his hand out imperially, with his chin held high, "No girl's heart is hidden from me."

Keima held that pose for a while, before he shrugged his shoulders and went back to a neutral position. "And also win that bet." The Capturing God cleared his throat, having literally run a marathon with his speech. Hakua still sat with a baffled expression, which was somewhat understandable: Keima Katsuragi had that effect on people when he chose to let himself rant.

But that rant might have cost him a flag in this route. For when Keima now searched for Ayumi in the field, his widened eyes were astonished to see her being supported by the shoulders by her teammates. Keima made a grunting sound when he saw Ayumi was favoring one leg over the other. _She tripped while I was going on and on with that speech? So careless!_

"Otamega, you shouldn't be going close to Ayumi right about now, y'hear?" Several of Ayumi's teammates blocked Keima's way when he attempted to follow her. "She doesn't need your fooling around now, and that's none of your business anyway."

"None of my business? It is my business what happens to Ayumi! You think you can just stop me?"

"No, but she can stop you." He did. "And you'll finally be given the telling-off of your life." Keima was shoved away, before they finally said, "Do her a favor and go home, creep."

Keima frowned as he watched the rest of the team follow their injured colleague as she was taken to the infirmary. He bowed his head in thought and ran over the scenarios again in his mind – something about this event struck a familiar cord, and he was not about to lose grasp of this now.

Then he looked up and ran over to where Hakua was under the tree. He was surprised to see concern on that devil's face. "Shouldn't you be, you know, supporting her with all your heart? What are you still doing here?"

"It's my fault." Keima said. "I failed to witness the event and so have to resort to conjencture." He turned to look at the field. "Yes, it is obvious that she has been injured while on a run, so..."

Hakua waited for the Capturing God to continue as she finally stood up from the ground. As she patted the grass from her clothes, she heard Keima say, "I will be needing your power once more Hakua."

One teleportation spell later and Keima found himself face down on the corridor near the infirmary. He felt a hand on his shoulder drag him away and into a nearby empty classroom.

He felt a warm sensation envelop him, and he looked around quizzically at Hakua as she muttered a sort of cantrip under her breath. "There, I've masked our presence." Hakua gestured outside the room, where Ayumi's teammates were passing by and talking worriedly. "I assume you requested this because you wanted to observe her?" _How did she?..._ "This spell ought to do the trick, the rest is up to you, commoner."

Keima grudgingly nodded his thanks before he left the room and headed down the hall to where the infirmary would be.

"Don't you think the hurdle today was weird?" Keima caught the tailend of the conversation as he sidled up the infirmary doorway. "I swear that thing was shorter than the rest!"

"No way!" Another voice replied in shock. "Do you think they would-"

"Guys, guys! I'm fine." He heard Ayumi's voice stop the dangerous conversation. "I mean, I will be fine before the tournament comes around! There's no way this leg can dampen my chances of winning!"

"Be a more realistic will you.." "Seriously, Ayumi."

"No, really guys, I'm fine – it's just a little sprain, I'll get over it."

Keima observed the power of Hakua's spell firsthand as the two close friends literally appeared in front of him as the door opened, causing him to sidestep quickly in surprise. He clutched his chest in relief when he saw that they didn't notice him standing just an arm's length away. Over their shoulders, he caught a glimpse of Ayumi sitting on top of the bed. He didn't miss every detail.

With measured steps, he returned to the empty classroom, again deep in thought. His hands itched for the PFP in his pocket, before he brought them up to stroke his hair. _An injury...tournament? Hostile upperclassmen...and Ayumi's expression..._

_She seemed relieved._

The grin that threatened to split his face unnerved Hakua when she saw it, and she brought her scythe before her in alarm. "W-what's with that face all of a sudden? Did your commoner brain explode after all?"

"Hakua," the grin faded and Keima put his fingers up to his glasses. "I can already see the ending."

"Huh?"

"The ending, you she-devil! There is now a ninety-five percent chance of success in this route – I'm sure of it!"

"How can you be so sure?"

"Well of course, since I've already seen it before – in games." Whack! went the eraser, but Hakua was astonished to see the Capturing God bear it all and not collapse. He continued to ramble, "I've seen this setup before...the target, the conflict, and above all, the possible resolution! I can almost feel the ending as if it were between my two hands."

"Are you really so confident that it will turn to love?" Hakua said doubtfully.

"Love? Of course it will. All endings lead down that route, unless it's a stupid normal ending that developers sometimes go for. But rest assured, the ending I see here is indeed a love ending, and will fulfill the criteria that the contract requires.

"Now all I need to do is begin the countdown to the end. Can you do me one last favor, Hakua?"

Ayumi hugged her legs close to herself as she sat morosely on the infirmary bed. She'd closed the curtains around her, walling her off from the room. In her own private world, her thoughts were a mess - but her conviction was true.

Briefly she wondered if she would disappoint everyone in the team who were looking forward to see her run. She hoped she could make it up to them somehow.

And just as briefly, her thoughts turned to the time spent with that Katsuragi. _Where was he? Did he see me down there? He must've been discouraged by me, to have fallen like that..._

Ayumi's embrace on her legs tightened, and she willed her eyes shut.

Two seconds later, the infirmary doors opened, and she quickly returned to a proper sitting position. She drew back the blinds in haste and saw what she didn't want to see just now.

There was the idiot, Katsuragi with that goofy look on his face.

"Sorry about my tardiness, Ayumi-san, but I ran out to get some get-well fruits from town first. I did run my best just like my idol though, and that's why I was able to go out and back like bam!" He snapped his fingers. "I hope you'll forgive me, and here's my gift to you from the deepest reaches of my heart."

"Stop being so disgusting Katsuragi, and give me that!" She almost stood up on her feet, and it was a good thing that she stopped. So instead she held out her hands in demand for the cheesy basket Katsuragi had brought her.

She tossed it aside in impatience as her gaze sought Katsuragi once more, and she saw him rub the back of his head sheepishly before smiling at her.

"I'm glad you're alright, Ayumi-san! The others told me you'd been injured from that fall, and they said you won't be able to run, but I told them the meet's still some days away, and you could recover by then, and Ayumi-san will again be left to run freely and energetically like she always has in my dreams-"

"Will you stop it, _Otamega? _" She whispered, her eyes downcast. "Really, you just can't seem to shut up at the right moments huh?"

"A-Ayumi-san, sorry!" he bowed.

"Going on and on about how I run, and how you admire this and that in me...well, how is it now? Look at this leg, the nurse told me that it would be a few days before I could walk freely again, and the tournament's in that time!"

"Then, you can still make it-"

"No, I can't! I won't be able to practice in that time, and by then, my condition will fail and I won't be at the top of my game!"

"But even then, I know you can-"

"Gah! Just shut up, you stupid OTAMEGA!" She finally shouted, all her aggravation the past days centering on that one word. That one word literally shocked Katsuragi in his tracks, as his wide eyes made her continue, "You've only known me for a few days, and you're spouting nonsense like that? Don't give me that crap!"

_"As an arrow flies..."_

"I've just about had it with you, Otamega! I was only tolerating you the past few days because I thought there'd be something different about you!"

_"She continues to run and run and run..."_

"But I was wrong! You're as shallow as anyone can be! You only give these useless words that aren't going to help me one bit, despite you claiming you're helping! You're useless! Useless!"

_"Until she reaches..."_

"You don't know anything about me, Otamega! You can't even understand how the human body works, how this injury's gonna set me back in the team, how it's gonna ruin my future! I like to run more than anything! So words like 'it's gonna be alright' can't do anything! I hate those words, but I especially hate shallow, insensitive people like you!"

_The FINish line..._

"So take this!" she grabbed the fruits placed in the basket, piece by piece, and threw them dead center at the dazed Otamega. Each one hit perfectly, and she deep down she laughed at how she was bullying this pathetic guy with fruits! Fruits! "Get out, get out, get out! I don't need your sympathy! I don't want it, and I don't want y-"


	3. Ayumi End: Capping the Flags

_"But Ayumi-san, you aren't injured!"_

_Abruptly, the fruit barrage stopped as the moment froze between us. Ayumi looked with shock at me as I grabbed and held the last apple in my hands._

_"Wh-what are you saying? Don't you see this bandage? Of course I'm injured you idiot!"_

_I had to plan this right. One wrong word, and she'd go berserk on me again, and I don't think "I" can take that. I cursed once more for the lack of the save function as I looked Takahara straight in the eye, with more confidence in my voice, and repeated "You aren't injured."_

_"How can you say that with such confidence?" Those words were so familiar coming from the lips of someone other than a certani troublesome she-devil. "Are you going to say now, 'that injury's not gonna stop you Ayumi-san', or 'nothing's gonna stop me Ayumi-san'..."_

_"Ayumi-san." I repeated slowly, seriously, to Takahara. "You aren't injured. I know it because-_

_"Your hair," I pointed to an imaginary spot on my head, "wasn't tied up." This was the gamble that I'd told Hakua about, and it was the percentage chance that I was accounting for when I told her about the possibility for failure. If she were really running down that route, then the rest of the capture would be a breeze._

_But if she were really injured, then I really would show myself to be an insensitive ham and be rightfully smacked for my efforts. _

_I blinked, and in the brief second that my eyes were closed, I hoped that it was indeed the case. I opened my eyes, and there it was._

_Bingo! Here comes the confrontation event!_

"H-huh? That's your reason, O-otamega?" Ayumi stuttered, turning her gaze guiltily to the side. "What a strange-"

"It's not strange, Ayumi-san." Keima interrupted gently. "For I who only know a bit of this or that about you, I do know that you would work only seriously if your hair were tied up. And when you ran and jumped over the hurdle, and had the accident, your hair wasn't tied up." Again, Keima smiled a sheepish smile. "So I surmised that you weren't injured."

"Wh-why?" She put her face in both her hands.

"Why?" Keima said, his voice raised a little. "I should be asking you that, Ayumi-san. Why did you fake this accident? Are you having second thoughts about the competition? The Ayumi-san I know would never let her doubts eat her up like this."

A ringing silence followed Keima's heated question, and neither one was sure who would answer first. Ayumi kept her face hidden while Keima kept his eyes on her.

"It's alright like this." She began, and Keima noticed her cracked voice. "It should be fine like this, right? It's so much better like this." She let down her hands and exposed her despondent face. Her eyes were fixed dully on her injured feet.

"It's just like they said: I was only accepted into the team because the teacher liked my good lap times. And now everyone is relying on me because I'm about to participate in the tournament, but-

"No one really noticed, but since then, my lap times haven't improved! I practiced hard every single day, but there's still no improvement. I'm still the same as ever.

"I'm not special. I was never meant to be here. Someone like me was never meant to participate in a tournament. They'd all only laugh when they'd see what a failure I am."

She clutched the front of her gym clothes tightly. Unbidden tears formed on the corners of her eyes, and she let them flow as she concluded: "So it's enough, things will be fine as they are. Even if I fail and be last on the list, even if I won't be first place and become outed-"

_It will be fine._

"That's ridiculous." Ayumi's tear-stained face whipped up to glare viciously at Keima Katsuragi. "Things like deserving to be on or not, whether you're good enough or not..."

Now it was Keima's turn. His eyes took on that same faraway look they'd had on the afternoon he'd confessed to her. "The Ayumi-san I know would never let foolish doubts like these affect her stride."

"You don't know me!"

"No matter what people may think, there are none in this entire world who can run so far, and so fast, and so lively like you, Ayumi-san."

"You're exaggerating!"

"And if it's just about being first or last place Ayumi-san," he took off the glasses from his face and smiled like the cheerful sun,

"You will always be first in my heart."

"Um-, w-wha- I-" Ayumi struggled to form the words. Words to hurt, to deride, to bully. None came.

After all, how could one hurt someone they liked?

"And that's why Ayumi-san," Keima said seriously now, his face close to hers and clutching her shoulders with his hands, causing her to blush with the fury of a thousand furnaces. "I'll always be there for you, whether you become first place here, first place in another tournament, or first place in the next tournament after that. So, please run – run as far as you can, Ayumi-san. Because I'll be struggling to follow behind you every single moment."

Ayumi gingerly clasped one of Keima's hands with her own. One second after, she was clutching it crushing Katsuragi's hand under her vice grip, muttering, "What are those types of words coming out of _your _mouth for? Disgusting! Disgusting!" Katsuragi seemed to bear it all without a whimper of pain escaping him.

Afterwards, she sighed, and lightly pressed her forehead against his. Keima reacted noticeably to this action as it became his turn to blush, though Ayumi didn't seem to notice.

"Hey, will you still be come cheer for me tomorrow?"

Two blushing faces, separated by a millimeter. The gentle moment passed as Keima replied, "Tomorrow, and every day after."

"I'm glad," Ayumi sighed, and Keima had close to a panic attack when he realized her breath was hot on his lips and it was almost close enough to-

There, he felt it, that tender feeling of his lips, of a kiss, it's a kiss, In the hot afternoon, insude the infirmary i've been kissed...

_niisama was kissed yay_

He felt a blast of energy rush past him, tussling his hair and bursting through the door with a bang. He kept his eyes tightly closed as he held the unconscious form of Ayumi in his arms. When he was sure that the whatever-it-was had left the infirmary, he carefully arranged Ayumi on the bed, drew the curtains shut and ran off to inform Hakua.

"She-devil!"

"I know!" She yelled, already heading out the window in pursuit. She was annoyed that the commoner hadn't bothered to inform her about the spirit's release, but was more deeply disturbed by the power level this runaway spirit was exhibiting.

It shouldn't have been this strong.

It flew over the rooftops, its incorporeal form undulating and leaving silver streaks behind it, making it easy to follow for this genius devil. Hakua looked from left to right, quickly assessing if there were any humans in sight, and then powered up a restraining spell.

But before she could finish the cantrip, the spirit had doubled back over the roof, forcing Hakua to turn to the side in the last second -

And knock her head right into the water tower.

When Keima arrived on the scene at the rooftop, it was to find the unconscious form of Hakua lying broken on the ground a few yards away. He looked around and cursed, that must be the runaway spirit zooming around on top of the school.

"You're not just an annoying level, you're a useless one too!" Keima muttered as he rushed over to the she-devil. He didn't know how devil anatomy worked, but she was surely breathing, though she was deeply unconscious, no matter how much she shook her.

A shadow loomed above him, and he looked around and stared right into the ugly face of Ayumi's runaway spirit.

"**it's enough like this...it's fine..."**

The thing lunged, and Keima dove to the side, dragging Hakua's limp body with him. It roared as it dove cleanly through the concrete and emerge a few more feet away.

It zipped around like an out-of-control firecracker, though Keima had literally no idea how to handle a runaway spirit. Wasn't it this devil's job? Why can't she do _her _part of the contract properly! I'll torment her in Hell if I end up losing me head because of her!

But still, Keima wondered, what was the spirit doing? If what he gleaned from the she-devil's lectures was correct, that thing should have been somewhat like a phantom of sorts, drifiting like a stereotypical ghost in the air. Not zigzagging in midair like that.

Keima dodged another attack, and once he landed and recovered, he tried once again to rouse the sleeping devil-princess. No luck.

And he was breathing hard now, too. He wasn't prepared for strenuous activity like this; Physical education was his hated subject! A God does not need to exercise!

_What's with this nefarious development! Shouldn't the end credits have rolled once I ki-kissed Takahara back there? Why am I up here playing tag with a creature that's well beyond my league!_

_Oh, I forgot, you did kiss her right?_

Uncharacteristically, Keima shivered. "It" sounded clearer now – strong and resounding loudly in his mind. _Wha-what the-_

It was the uncomfortable feeling he'd felt only once before. A feeling he loathed to revisit.

He reviled it.

_It was the reason for his hatred._

Keima placed the she-devil on the ground in defeat, his eyes clenched shut. Wordlessly he put his glasses away and pulled out his beloved PFP, before he turned to look at the blurred image of the fast-moving spirit.

_Well then, I haven't felt this much energy since like, forever! Are you ready for this nii-sama?_

_Please don't hurt anyone. Please, that is my only request._

_Well, if you beg like that, then I have no choice but to accept. But you'll be owing me..._

The voice cackled as if from a far distance, and Keima's eyes lost their lustre as his vision faded into black.

_You'll owe me big...nii-sama..._

OoOoOoOo

The buzzing sound of her spirit detector greeted Hakua as she awoke. Adrenaline rushed through her veins as she sat up, roughly pushing the weight on her body aside. Expert eyes looked around for the location of the runaway spirit, and her scythe was poised to defend at her side.

"But how-?"

She relaxed her pose when she caught sight of the runaway spirit floating docilely in the air in front of her. She looked around, questioning the sight in front of her, and consulted the human realm time with her cloth.

_Only ten minutes passed when I shot out from the classroom?_

She looked down at her feet and jumped (and shrieked). Or maybe she shrieked and jumped, or perhaps both at the same time. For there at her feet was her buddy, unconscious but visibly drooling on the ground.

_That _was the weight she felt, she realized with a jolt.

"Ah, I've got no time for this!" She wrenched her eyes forcefully from the Katsuragi's fallen figure. With a single release spell she summoned the jar-like containment bin and activated it. The runaway spirit was quietly sucked in without a hitch.

Hakua tapped her skull ornament, but before she contacted Hell, she glanced at Katsuragi.

"Lucky commoner." She pouted. A split second later, she remembered with a full-blown horror that he'd won the bet too.


	4. Imaginary Chapter 1: Challenger's Fall

"GET OUT GET OUT!"

A particularly hard apple hit Keima on the head, and his vision blurred, even with the glasses on.

He struggled to get the words out, but none rolled out of his tongue. There were too many scenarios, too many scenes.

He was unsure which to use. This was the Real after all.

"You stupid Otamega! Never come near me again!"

_That girl, she's not grateful that I'm doing all this just for her own pitiful sake!_

_I curse you Real!_

Keima covered himself against the barrage and headed out of the infirmary. Once in the corridor, he collected himself and his thoughts. Breathing deeply, he noticed that something was hot – down there.

It had been so long, like "it"d said.

But he had no time for that! He had to salvage this situation somehow!

_Salvagebutniisama youfailed_

_Shut up! I don't need your meddling right now!_

_Yougonnaneeditreal soon niisama_

Right, so if he could come up with a secondary event,he could definitely return to Ayumi and apologize, make-up, probably start over. He'd seen these kinds of things before. They'd all been solved by him before – in his games, of course.

_Hungryhungryhungry_

"Ayumi-san!" He burst through the door, ready to use whatever charisma he theoretically had to sway the target's feelings. "I believe in you, no matter-"

His gift basket hit him straight in the face, and there was an audible, unpleasant crunch as the missile-like force impacted his nose. He groaned in pain as he allowed the basket to fall over to the ground.

"Pervert Otamega! What are you still doing here?"

Keima touched his broken nose gingerly, before turning to glare quite murderously at an indignant Takahara.

"I'm just trying to help, you-"

"Ha! I knew it, there really is a reason for your unwanted advances! Now you're sick of me right? Now you're annoyed – there's the Otamega I've been waiting for! Stay away from me you creep!"

_Creep..._

The word resounded like a death knell in the pits of Keima's self. He clenched his fists close as he fought to override the anger bubbling out. A few more droplets of blood fell to the floor. The sight was so disgusting, it was like he'd been having a nosebleed over Ayumi inside the infirmary.

Like he'd been...aroused?

_Yourenotaroused_

"What-"

_THIS is aroused! Nyahahahaha!_

Keima felt a searing, radiating pain in his lower body and he keeled over, clutching at "it" in pain. _No, this was exactly like before! _

"Takahara!" He shouted desperately. "You have to run, now!"

"Who are you to demand things from me Otamega! _You_ get out!"

_Bah, I don't care anymore. The Real is.. it is..._

_Hateful._

OooOoOoOoO

Sometimes Keima would dream about that day, as he watched the stars under the free sky.

He knows it is a dream, just like this lifestyle of his is a dream.

In that dream, he is a God, who transcended time and space to capture a thousand girls.

In that dream, he meets a little devil, and they argue about this and that. At times, they cross over to the other side and plot.

In that dream, he falls in love, briefly with a girl who falls in love with him.

One detail he always tries to recall in lucidity: did he leave the girl, or did the girl leave him?

Whatever happened to the little devil?

He only remembers waking one day on top of an ugly girl's body, and recalls that awful stench that clung to her gym clothes.

He remembers crawling to the door, escaping, unmindful of his sweet nakedness. The door unexpectedly opens behind him.

He remembers screams, a heated exchange, and a life is again lost.

He remembers nothing else.

But he would dream, and each time he noted every detail, every action, examining each from every angle.

And he would try to come to a conclusion.

It is the only pastime that occupies his life.

Tomorrow, he has to cross another sea. Perhaps the next boat will be more hospitable than the last.


	5. Interlude I: Into the House of God

Author's Note: Happy holidays to everyone! I wish my own holidays were as happy (though not in that sense) You see, I'd hoped to actually snag a computer by year's end, but alas, no computer has surfaced. I've even taken to using my girlfriend's machine to check out my email; my situation's that bleak on that front. And you know what that means Anarchy readers? Yep, still nothing from my end in that story. So to stem the tide, I've used every free moment at work that I have to gather up all my other unfinished saved documents, finish them up, and submit. Here's to the holidays, and to a computer hopefully showing up at my door on Christmas Eve!

* * *

AN: find a song to use for Kanon, or make up own? Hm.

The Realm of the Underworld, which most humans also term Yomi, Hell, Avernus, Hades, Gehenna, Tartarus, Sheol, and other names besides, was a place not entirely unlike one which could be found in the mortal realm. To start, it had its demonic denizens with twisted shapes that were incomprehensible and downright repulsive to humans. Wherever one would look, they would see a demon; the Underworld was vast. These had little in common in shape, size and form with the humans who dwelt in their realm - at least they _used_ to be as horrific as nightmares would be.

As one went further and further in, one might glimpse, beyond the milling crowds of demons and devils of lesser and greater power, the old unmentioned structures that spoke of a bygone era. There were slagpits filled with half-melted iron maidens and other metal rudiments of torture, there were dormant volcanoes with mile-wide holes that housed in their bosoms putrifying ashes of unknown origin. One particular realm housed the gigantic drying skeleton of some primordial demon, eternally clutching itself in the bitter cold of that abyss. Sometimes one would find the skylines of some realms to have been ripped apart at the center, exposing a gaping darkness which no demon dared enter. Great rivers, said to have been made of purified soulstuff before, now ran polluted with neglected waste down their altered courses throughout the Underworld . The local news spoke of desolate wastes spread out across the realms where bustling demonic shanties now dwelled at the edges, its inhabitants afraid to venture inward.

And finally, in almost all the major towns of the Underworld, there existed the ruined remnants of seven large, stone edifices of unknown greater demons standing proudly at the town center.

To be fair, most demons "of this age" no longer had any cause to visit these ugly sights – for being modern they took the express highways of magic wherever they pleased. Each town had a travel hub from which a demon could travel to other travel hubs across the Underworld, and they would never have to leave the illusory comfort of the towns.

The Underworld, a nation in its own sense, had its government, dwelling in the deepest layers of the realm where no Light entered. It was here that those who were responsible for overseeing the continued operation of Hell went about their business. The buildings were kept dim with little light being used, for Hell was currently low on energy to power such lights.

The energy scarcity was, for most demons, the most pressing concern in New Hell. Many were rightly concerned for their immediate futures.

But that is another side to tell.

Today, Hakua de Rotto Helmium was making her first ever debriefing on the experimental "Love Love Energy Mode" project that she had been assigned to. Her superiors were eager to learn if she had been successful in her pioneering work.

Hours before, she had made the trip to Hell via the fastest port she could find, and here she was standing in the debriefing area, ready to give her report. It was the demon's first official debriefing while working with a mortal, and like most firsts, Hakua wanted it to be good.

The room could hardly be called that, what Hakua currently faced was a yawning darkness out of which the voices of her superiors issued. She alone stood on the only visible platform – a recall pyramid at her front, and her official scythe of proof perched to her left. The "voices out of the darkness" was one of the throwbacks to the previous "age": it was supposed to be the tool that the ancient Lords and Ladies of Hell would use to interrogate an erring underling.

Now, it had been redone for debriefings such as these.

A blast of hot air ruffled Hakua's hair and uniform as a gonging sound, carrying with it the heightened voice of one of her superiors was heard, "I HAVE FINALLY FINISHED PERUSING YOUR WRITTEN REPORT, HAKUA HELMIUM, AND- OH BLOODY, HOLD ON..."

In the awkward pause, Hakua carefully adjusted her messed-up uniform and arranged her hair quickly, before a second, more modulated voice joined in, "Why do you always miss the right volume for your speaker, eh? Makes it hard fer anyone to take them reports seriously." A rough, but weaker breeze made her hair sway once more.

"My sincerest apologies to you all gathered, but the problem has already been corrected, no problems," the first voice, toned down, rejoined.

"Ahem...if we could continue?" said a third, feminine voice. The softer breeze of this one made only stirred Hakua's magical cloth ornament.

"Of course, of course... now, Hakua Helmium, I have reviewed the results of your first field-testing of the so-called 'Love-Love Method', and I would like to clarify just a few things with you, if you would please."

"Certainly, milord." Hakua replied gracefully, while again holding her hair together after being hit by another strong gale from the first speaker.

"In your report, you described your buddy, this 'Capturing God' to have unappealing traits. It says here you found him, and I quote: 'abrasive, generally difficult to get along with, disrespectful to superiors' among other things which I shall not name. Yet, at the end of the evaluation, you gave him the letter grade 'A' overall. Might we be illuminated by your reasons?"

Hakua thought of the commoner she'd been with (and lost a bet to) for a few days and started her response, "Honorable sirs and ladies, it is true that for a mortal the 'Capturing God' is an anomalous existence. Even in his own realm he is shunned, and his personality is something that has the possiblity of conflicting with every other.

"However, he has shown to possess a unique mental faculty that shows how the dubbed 'Love-Love Method' can be so quickly achieved. Within a span of a few days, he," Hakua paused, remembering her own taunts at the commoner, "has managed to capture the love of a human, and free the runaway spirit without any hassle. As had been recommended before, he has the potential to be the benchmark on which the Love-Love Method can be studied, and I dislike to say it: but the human is rightly deserving his A buddy status."

"Thank you for your thoughts, Hakua Helmium. And as for the aftermath of the operation- have the projected difficulties surfaced?" asked the third voice.

"If you mean the possibility of opening the gap further: my superior has just informed me that all instances of my buddy inside the target's memory has been wiped, and it has been four human days without any reports of gap reopening." Hakua tried not to think about having been knocked out for some minutes; those were precious few minutes that she could garner no info on, save that the Spirit had somehow been weakened. _Had that commoner done something?_

A fourth, gravelly voice cut in, "But that is not to say that the gap may resurface soon, correct?"

"Yes," Hakua replied, shifting her feet. "the possibility still exists."

The second voice rejoined, "But it's been made very clear from this lass's report that the Method is now feasible, so there's no harm allowing the contract to continue."

"What say you, dear? Shall we follow through with your previous request to have the contract removed? The project, will of course be suspended, and you shall have to spend some time off to recuperate from the aftereffects of the ritual," asked the third voice.

"It is possible to have contracts removed, but the process can be especially taxing to the human buddy, and deaths have occured in the past."

Hakua had been prepared for this question, back when she stood gripping the captured spirit in her hand on the desolate plains of Upper Hell. She had certainly been inconvenienced by the binding contract that placed her soul in line with the commoner's, since at first she had the assumption that the commoner would certainly prove useless and lead to her demise.

That was why she'd furiously contacted her superior, Dokuro Skull and demanded the Contract Breaking Ritual, for "no way in Hell was she going to risk her life for this commoner!" - regardless of the risk of death to him. She figured it served as just punishment for having deceived Hell's intelligence.

But then had come the commoner's surprise declaration, and subsequent fulfillment of the terms of the contract. It boggled all foreseen logic, but the mortal had pulled through with admittedly flying colors.

And so this perfect devil figured it would be alright to give one last chance. And, it wasn't like she was concerned for a mortal's well-being or anything. It was just bad decorum to order the death of a human so frivolously.

"Yes, I would like to rescind that ritual. I believe it is important, now that we have established a starting point, to continue with the project's aims." Hakua said firmly after a short pause.

"Very well then, The order has been rescinded, you may now continue in your duties."

"We shall expect regular reports from here on - do not disappoint us, Hakua Helmium. It is as you say, the project must continue. _And it must succeed._"

The fourth voice concluded, "You are dismissed, devil. We are pleased."

Hakua felt a blast of superheated air wash over her body followed by the rumbling noise akin to thunder, before her vision dimmed and resolved to find herself back at Dokuro's office.

She breathed in deeply, not caring to address her rumpled state for now. The nauseating aftereffects of sudden teleportation were always jarring to any being, be they devil or human.

The she-devil hesitated, before picking up her scythe and hefting it lightly on her back. Seeing that her superior wasn't in his usual place behind the terminal, Hakua turned and headed for the exit, rubbing her forehead as she went.

The sliding doors hissed open, and there stood the short stature of Dokuru Skull, who waved warmly, "I greet you well, Hakua. All done with the debriefing?"

Her superior, Dokuro Skull, was short, barely able to reach above her knees. No one would be able to tell that he was a devil of great import from just looking at him.

"I, uh-" Hakua began, though a dull throbbing in her temple made her stop.

"Instant Porting sickness? That's quite understandable dear, would you like something for that?"

"N-no that's fine," she replied weakly. She watched as Dokuro Skull scurried past her feet and made for his place behind the desk. "I have to head back into the human realm quickly so I can infiltrate, anyway."

"Ah, so I assume you've decided to recall that order?" Hakua turned, and she stared into blank eye sockets. "Yes," she replied shortly, before turning to hide the redness in her face.

"Oh good, good. For you, I mean. And the 'commoner' mortal buddy too. You can hand in your report later – for now, you must make a successful infiltration. I've taken the liberty of preparing your cover story, so I bid you well." The amusement was evident in her superior's voice. "Don't forget to charge up the talisman down at Styx before you go."

"Yes sir," she replied.

Dokuru tapped his head as if remembering something, "Also, don't forget the exact wording of the transformative cantrip," She watched as the little demon rifled through a cabinet drawer that had appeared out of thin air. "Most devils would find it hard to pronounce the right intonation, but I'm confident you'll do fine, dear." Hakua flushed as she received the proffered paper, where on one side was printed the official insignia of Hell, and the other a stream of demonic words insribed carefully in a distinct flowery pattern. She turned it over to glance at the scrawling words. "It may get difficult in the middle, and that is why I advise caution when you reach that part.

"Do not forget the side-effects of sudden transformation. Though you are protected by Heaven's Pact, you are still a devil, and so too much use of magic can tax your body. That extends to offensive and defensive cantrips too, if you do get around to using them. But I'm sure you'll expend no energies as before, eh dear?" A twinkle could be found in the depths of those sockets. "I won't hold you long then, I bid you farewell and luck in your duties."

"Thank you, sir, and I won't forget what you've told me." She curtsied shortly before turning to leave. "And please be sure to get those DVDs I asked you about!" She heard him call out behind her as the sliding doors shut close. "I really need to lose some weight, you know!"

Dokuru Skull let out a tired breath before turning his attention to one of his magical monitors. After a few quick taps on the console, Hakua's request was deleted from the records. A shrieking beep from the siren behind him alerted him to a new visitor coming to his office.

"Is it Hakua?...No, I see it's-"

His door slid open for the third time in the day and a mass of hairy, spindly legs tumbled into Dokuru's office. He allowed the newcomer demon some time to right himself with his multitude of legs while he turned around to prepare something for his visitor.

"I bid you greeting, Dokuru-Chief-of-External-Threats-Branch." The newcomer began, its mouthpiece hidden beneath the mass. A greater multitude of eyes watched Dokuru warily prepare him some tea. A crackle like thunder followed every utterance. "Haste is needed. I shall not tarry. I have received . . . news of import. Your minion has succeeded?"

"I bid you greeting, Homonculus-of-the-Superb-One. The truth is scarce, but it is there. My . . . minion has indeed succeeded, though it is only up to a point. She will need some more time still."

A rumbling sound echoed in his small room. Dokuru wished he could bite a tongue inside his mouth to ease off the tension that rode on his small shoulders. The quaint mug sat cooling on top of his desk.

There was an abrupt gale, not unlike one that could be gotten in the Chasm of Punishment where Hakua had been, before his visitor collapsed in a tangle of hairy legs. No power was left in the homonculus' form, and there was silence in his office before Dokuru scurried over to slide his door shut.

He turned to regard the corpse. He pointed his short, boned fingers, and then a red, rune-filled circle appeared underneath it, bathing it in a sudden blaze of fire. The dappled colors reflected themselves in his hollow sockets before the flame disappeared, leaving not a trace of ash. The little Chief was then left quite alone in his office.

"At least clean up before you go."

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Keima Katsuragi didn't like unanswered questions.

He didn't like it as much as _Kronicle Crusaders IV _getting delayed again because the company wasn't putting its all; as much as losing his place in a long line at the game store during the release of _Thank my stars! FD~ _; as much as finding _another _Kanon poster glaring at him with all its color from across the street; heck, it was up there with P.E., his hated subjet of all. And that didn't include the occasional cleaning jaunts his mother goaded him to do.

Unanswered questions flitted like buzz-flies within the formidable gamers' mind, and his vast intellect would rapidly find solutions to each with the flick of a long, imaginary amphibian tongue. He prided himself on being that quick of a problem solver, which was why he was able to top algebraic tests most of the time.

But now and again, stubbornly unanswerable questions would persist, and like that perpetual thinker encased in stone, the Capturing God would ponder and wonder and whimper.

First there had been two, during elementary and then middle school.

Then had been that bizarre experience he'd had last week. After, he'd spent feverish hours "recovering" himself, burying himself deep in flowery scenarios that when he emerged, he wondered if after all, the Ayumi incident had been just that, a teensy little incident.

That was one of _the_ questions. The next day, he'd kept a wary eye on his surroundings, ready to bolt at the first sign of that cannonball-made-flesh fawning on him like he was supposed to be her boyfriend or something.

"All clear my brothers!~" Imaginary inner Keimas had cheered when he met the untroubled eyes of Ayumi, who strolled into the classroom with naught a glance spared to the Capturing God. Keima wanted to exult, but he refrained.

Instead, he watched as Ayumi did indeed end up winning the match later that day, scoring a glowing medal and much praises for the running prodigy. Unwittingly, Keima had found himself attending the closing ceremony, where the winners would be awarded their medals, just to make sure.

Her eyes passed briefly over him, before they closed in happiness, while she was enveloped by her cheering teammates. Keima's thoughts were suddenly bombarded with images of a hot afternoon inside the empty infirmary, with a sweaty girl wearing a track suit sitting invitingly on one of the beds . . .

_No! Bad mind! BAD! BAD!_

"Congratulations, Ayumi-san." he murmured to himself as he turned briskly away, his hands already plugging away nonstop on a new scenario in his PFP.

That was one question answered, yet the other question remained: what of his collar? If he presupposed that the events of last week had been true, that he had met a being who claimed herself to be a devil, that he had actually played out a convoluted plot from one of his games and come face to face with an out-of-this world monster, then following that rule: _shouldn't the contract be over?_

The collar that had signified his death sentence was still there, and it tormented him at times with visions of sudden decapitation. Ill things could only result from this sign, and he was sorely determined not to fall into another trap again.

_Never again, devil! That was just a once-in-a-lifetime flag. _Perhaps the collar was a souvenir, a permanent reminder of a bizarre week in his life? Oh yes, that would make a good topic of discussion with the kids he would inevitably have with his dear Yokkyun. If that were true, then the beings who ran "Hell" were sadistic imps who only did the mortals ill.

Idly, he spent five minutes in the school library, slipping past that weirdo librarian girl to look up "Underworld" on the database. Yep, definitely a disruptive force, those Hellians.

"Well, it was certainly a memorable week."

[_You're telling me, man! I mean seriously, was that bizarre?]_

"And it's not like I'm mad that the she-devil took off without a thank-you or sorry-for-bothering-you. I don't ever wanna associate with her kind!"

[_Hold on, dude. Are you saying you like her?]_

"No way in the Hell those miscreants live in! Even if she is unReal in a sense, but she is still a Real girl!"

[_Aww, I always knew you liked Mizuki-chan! Nice going, bro!]_

_" . . . _You can shut up now, Obligatory Male Sidekick # 992." Keima mumbled to the screen, pressing down on the skip button to pass through all his boring sidekick conversation.

It was Saturday, and he had just finished doing his required cleaning duties in Cafe Grandpa for his overseer of a mother. The week had been uneventful, which was good, and he was determined not to squander every second of it. So he patiently gritted his teeth while greeting customers with a ridiculous uniform and forced smiles, as he secretly pressed discreet buttons on the PFP behind his back.

Thankfully, his Mom had been too busy with the sudden workload to notice him playing, or that would've been another PFP flung onto the garage for parts.

Having just cleared another route in his game, Keima cautiously peeked out into the corridor to listen to the sounds of the shop downstairs. It seemed like there were still a few stragglers left. Keima was sure that if he were to descend then, his Mom would be on him like a feral man-eater. The only thing preventing her from actually storming upstairs to "fetch" him was the image she was supposed to put up in front of the customers.

Keima cocked his head to listen, it seemed like one or two of the customers had driven in by car. No matter, the coast was clear; it looked like he could continue with two or more routes before he'd come down. Silently, he slipped back into his room while softly shutting his door.

His enjoyment of a few scenes of elegant ladies demanding he pay them attention in a boarding school setting was little by little being sidetracked by the noise of some sort of commotion going on downstairs. It seemed to be so loud that he could hear it from way up here in his semi-soundproofed room, with his headphones on and the game music set to maximum. He crossed his fingers.

"KATSURAGI KEIMA!~"

The Capturing God slammed his head on his desk, before hurriedly saving his game with a few mouse-clicks. God though he may be, one did not fool around when his Mother shouted with those decibels. He wondered, briefly, if he should contribute some minutes every afternoon from then on to cleaning up the shop, to appease his mother.

Keima rushed downstairs, careful to smooth out the wrinkles in his Cafe uniform. The thing that caught his attention first, however, was not his mother's outraged face; but a big, Wooden box-crate thing sitting and taking up space just into the entrance.

It took a bare millisecond for this fact to register, before he turned once more to his mother, her once clear eyes now hiding a hot, silent fury behind the glasses. Her auburn hair, done up in a tidy bun, now threatened to spill out in tangled waves. Keima gulped, and asked in his most polite voice, "What seems to be the problem, Mother?"

"Oh, I'm sure you know full well, dear spawn of mine." His mother's voice was equally polite and deceptively sweet, but he could sense the volcano that dwelt within.

"For me?" Keima asked, looking quickly at the package again. His mind started powering up behind the lens. _Not good, have to salvage this somehow!_ "What's inside?"

"Oh, I'm sure you know all about it, my spawn." _She wasn't stopping her usage of the word "spawn", don't let it snowball! _"Mind, the customers were really concerned when they hurriedly went out, not even finishing their afternoon coffee . . . It took all my reassurances to them and the delivery man, to set them at ease . . . and even then, I'm not convinced I did a good job . . . " Menace wreathing her like a shroud, his Mom put her hand to her cheek in mock wonder.

"Mother," he hurriedly replied, inching cautiously to the box and eyeing it carefully. "I can assure you that I have no idea what this box is for, and I have equally ignorant knowledge of what is inside." The box was as tall as he, and unmarked save for the delivery stamp on its side. On it was clearly stated his name as the recipient.

_I haven't won any contests that I'm aware of, so that's out. And I haven't been in contact with any weird individuals, so that's out too. Except, wait . . . _

"Then, can you enlighten me, oh son of mine?" _Good! She's calming down! _His mother sighed as she too drew close. "Like you, I've formed a lot of guesses about what could be inside that box. They range from something simple connected with your hobby, to even more dangerous stuff that I will sock," here she playfully ground her fist in her other palm, "your head in for."

"Did Dad say anything?" Keima still kept his eyes on the box, his mind settling on familiar scenarios.

"So you think it's something from your father? Did you two have some sort of agreement without me knowing?" _Did Mom turn off the interior airconditioning?_

"No, not to my knowledge, Mom. But it would be the most logical conclusion, seeing as he is the only corresponent I could possibly have." Keima cupped his chin in his hand. "Or it could be from Grandpa, and maybe he just forgot to inform us. . . " he trailed off, letting the words work to soothe his mother. Perhaps it really was a delivery from his grandfather, who was a potter of some renown.

_No! I have to live! _Keima shivered. The last time she had been oozing this much killer instinct had been so long ago, when he'd gone home late at night from a cosplay party wearing nothing but a fireman cap, his boxers, and holding one of the sprinklers from the garden. _Don't remember it!_

"Mom," he started abruptly. "I think it's dangerous. It may just be a harmless prank, or it could be something that's serious enough to warrant caution. Let's call the company, return it." He'd read of such things before, but he didn't believe he'd be actually experiencing such until now. But then, it diverted attention from him now.

Apparently, it threw his mother out of her loop, as she started to stare suspiciously at the package. "Are you sure your side-hobby hasn't attracted anything weird?"

"Positive." Keima replied. _Or it could be a plot to eliminate the Capturing God from some jealous stalker who wants to usurp the throne! Or it could be . . . _

Why was this scenario so familiar?

"So you think we shouldn't open it?"

"That would be a yes." Keima's hands itched for a PFP that wasn't there, since he wouldn't deign to stick it inside his uniform.

"Well, let me just go ahead and call the company then," her mother sighed, reaching for the phone behind the counter. She turned back to look at her son as she dialed, "Are you sure it's not - "

"Hm?" Keima wondered puzzledly at his mother's astounded look, before he turned and saw what exactly freaked her out.

The box was levitating.

_Shit! It's definitely a death flag! It's definitely from Them! _Keima watched as the box, which now levitated over the threshold, flipped onto its side and crashed with a bang. Then, as if nothing happened, the box righted itself back onto its upright position.

Clang went the phone receiver in his mother's hands, as she joined her son in mute shock. It went on for a few seconds before they both shook their heads as if they were daydreaming of sorts, and started to speak politedly to each other, "Well, have a good day then," "I'll see you later for dinner, dear."

_So many things to do, games to catalogue . . . _

The box now started shaking hotly, and they froze in their steps. From the corner of their eyes they regarded the oddity of a box as it swayed to and fro, looking as if it had something inside that wanted to get out.

"Ahaha, I read a rumor about this on a tabloid a customer bought, something about strange foreigner corpse being carted with voodoo insignia on it, and that the first one who opened it was then mysteriously afflicted with bad luck after . . . "

"Oh really! That seems like a mighty fine rumor to me! Ahahaha!" Like two strangers conversing over a hot drink in the cafe, the mother-and-son combo let reason fly out the window.

Finally, the box's shaking was enough to bring them back down to earth once more, and both of them stared at the box in wonder and horror.

"You think we should open it?"

"Yes, and as the only remaining man in the household, it is your responsibility to open it and find out what's inside." There were smiles all around.

"Oh no, I believe that as the only responsible adult left, you should take responsibility and responsibly open the box, as a responsible parent should." Keima smiled pleasantly.

"Hahahaha!"

"Ohohoho!"

"Keima?"

"Yes, Mom?"

"_Open it." _

"No!" Keima whined. "I don't care what's inside, for all you know, you're the only one who wants to know, right, so yeah you should open it. . . "

"Keima, I'm gonna ask you now as your mother! - "

"I'll be taking my leave then - "

"You're not going anywhere mister!" His mother grabbed the back of his dress as he tried to scurry away, before the room was filled with gaudy smoke and the sound of a tight explosion.

Keima placidly wiped the powder that had stuck to his glasses and coughed out some of it that had gotten into his mouth. When the smoke finally cleared, out came the one thing that he'd loathed to see since that incident: the she-devil.

This time, Hakua de Rotto Helmium wore a set of clothese that looked like they belonged to some islander. _Hawaii? _Had the situation not been somewhat serious, he would have laughed at the pathetic way the coconut shells clung to that flat board of a chest; but as it was, when he met her eyes they lit up in recognition.

_The week hadn't even ended yet!_

"Alright, I'll be taking my leave then."

A painful vice grip on his shoulder rooted him to the spot, and he soon felt the reverse of what had happened before: the room just got a Hell of a lot colder. He looked up to see his mother's cheerful face, which beamed at him briefly with imperious menace before turning to the devil.

"Katsuragi." The devil spoke for the first time. "This . . . Hut of Katsuragi?" Hakua inquired haltingly of his mother.

"Yes?" She responded to the girl in confusion.

"Ah!" The girl procured a little card out of thin air in her hand, and her head dipped as if to read the thing inside it. "Good . . . evening to Katsuragi-who-dwells-in-this-Hut . . . ," _What? _It seemed like she was struggling over the words. " My . . . calling for my being . . . Hakua in my father's hut . . . this one has . . . rightfully sold to Katsuragi-head for the price of twenty packs rice . . . four ships fish cans . . . and land to burn and farm west of Tenani River . . . this one then . . . was delivered to be Katsuragi-heir's wife-for-eternity." Hakua looked up tentatively.

Unbeknownst to Hakua, Keima's shoulder was being systematically pulverized the longer she read, and when she reached that last part, Keima felt that he could see little butterflies from Heaven. _No wait, that's just the paint on the ceiling!_

His mother asked, "You . . . Hakua was it?" Hakua nodded. "Do you understand what I'm saying?" She stared blankly. "I'm saying," she mimed something coming from her mouth, then pointing to her head. "Know?"

"Sorry . . . this one speak no well . . . "

Keima felt his bonds loosen a bit, and he gently tried to pry the hand loose.

"Geez, I'm no good with these things," his mother sighed, "Then, let me just clarify." She pointed at the girl, "You," pointed to Keima, "wife?"

Hakua nodded doubtfully. "Is Katsuragi-heir?"

"If you mean he is the only misbegotten son in this household, then yes," she nodded in turn.

"Ah," Hakua's eyes lit up. She turned her eyes to Keima's and in the brief instant when her face was all clear, her eyes spoke the message 'Play along and I'll explain later." Then her eyes trembled, as if seeing her terrible future, "Katsuragi-heir, This one, " she pointed to herself, "wife-for-eternity."

"NO!" He shouted. "No, no, no, no, no, no. No, NO!" He shouted many times. He struggled in vain against his mother's grip, but she only held on tighter (and more painfully). She continued to inquire of the strange girl from a box, "And was _he," _she tugged his hair painfully, "the one who bought you?"

"Bought?" She tilted her head in a cute fashion. "This one . . . bought by Katsuragi-head."

"And Katsuragi-head would be. . ."

Hakua replied in apparent confusion, "This Hut-head? Katsuragi-mother's husband?""

Keima was finally freed from that terrible grasp, his shoulders aching from overexertion, but he soon felt that it was like finding oneself within the eye of a storm. A great, destructive force that would annihilate everything in its path.

That force now stooped to pick up the phone that had been dropped before, and quickly dialing in a number that she apparently knew so intimately.

"Hello, dear?"

Keima nodded furiously at Hakua, who was looking inquiringly at his mother, and pointed to the stairs. Keima quickly bounded up the stairs, hearing Hakua tread hesitantly behind him.

When the two reached the landing, he heard a powerful explosion rock the floor below them, along with the furious voice of his mother: "WHAT DO YOU MEAN I DON'T UNDERSTAND? You better come up with a better explanation or I'll have my foot so far up your ass, you're gonna be tasting your favorite pasta in the back of your throat!" Another crashing sound; it sounded like the cutlery was being flung across the room. It looked like a whole night of cleaning later.

And the source of this chaos? Keima glared at the she-devil returned. "You and your ilk better have a good explanation for upturning this house's life in one fell swoop, she-devil."

"I must admit," said the familiar voice, "that my superior could have handled the infiltration process with a bit more subtlety, but what's done is done." She turned to listen to his mother threaten his father over the phone with dismemberment, and dragging the pieces like soda cans behind her motorcycle. "Your mother has quite a colorful speech."

"She was supposed to be in some sort of biker gang before," he replied distractedly, before shaking his head furiously and pointing at her, "-Wait, wait! Before anything else, I would like to get some answers from you! What are you still doing here? Shouldn't the contract be over?"

"Contract?" Hakua's eyebrow raised.

"Don't play games with me!" he seethed impatiently. He pointed to the collar that wrapped itself around his neck. "The contract has been fulfilled, so why is this collar still here?" Above all, the fact that he had a figurative bomb strapped to his chest was something which weighed heavily on the Capturing God's mind.

"Fulfilled?" Hakua echoed in amusement, as if Keima had just said a bad joke but forced to laugh anyway. "_Commoner, _you think that the contract has been fulfilled?"

"You think this is a joke?"

"Undoubtedly!" She burst out laughing, apparently oblivious to the Capturing God's predicament. "Did I not mention to that warped brain of yours that a contract with devils is a lifetime deal? The moment you agreed to help us out, your fate was sealed until the conditions would be met!"

"But the conditions have been met!" Keima insisted hotly. Had he been caught in a shady deal that he no longer had any power over? "I was able to use love, as you have clearly seen, to oust the bad 'runaway spirits' from the target's heart. I've even won your stupid bet (which I'll be collecting on later), and now you're going to tell me the contract hasn't been fulfilled due to some unforeseen circumstances you people are shoving down my throat?"

"What in Hell are you talking about?" Hakua put her hands to her side. "The contract explicitly states, and here I'll show you my copy," abruptly, that familiar purple garment appeared out of nowhere to settle around her shoulders before transforming a section into a piece of paper which she handed to him, "as you can see where I point, '_'till spirits are sealed beneath the earth once more, I (_that's you) _shall continue to serve in my capacity as a Buddy of Hell, until such time that my duties, _well continuing until your death, or when Hell deems it safe, of course."

Keima studied the paper carefully. Hakua gave him some time before continuing, "Notice the spirits being plural. Spirits. Not just one spirit. You have to assist us in recovering all the Spirits, before the contract will be considered complete."

"And," Keima asked in a voice that threatened to crack, "How many spirits are left?"

"Within Majima City alone, there are three thousand," his fingers holding the paper shook. "But add them all up across the world and it's sixty thousand." The paper dissolved in magical dust.

"Si-sixty THOUSAND? That'll take me more than twenty lifetimes to fulfill the contract then! How am I supposed to live a long time to capture that?" He shouted, uncaring that he was sharing decibels with his mother downstairs.

"If Hell wishes it, immortality suites could be obtained-"

"Immortality? That's not the point!" He banged his head against the wall repeatedly, already cursing the remainder of his normal life to be slave to that, that thing standing with a coconut bra and a skirt made of leaves in the second floor landing.

"Yokkyun, save me from this Hell," he whispered to a girl whom he knew he'd stuck inside a flash drive under his desk, "Oh, my life . . . "

"Are you done moping by yourself over there?" Hakua asked in annoyance, idly fiddling with the leaves that stuck to her legs. "Because I want to have this bonding ritual done and over with - "

"Shut up! Hell hath no fury greater than a man deprived of his freedom! I will not lie down quietly! I shall rebel, and I shall succeed!" Like a madman, he turned and ran down the corridor into his room.

"Wait, where're you going commoner!"

She found the door barricaded when she reached it, and no matter how much she pounded, it wouldn't budge. Behind the door, she thought she could hear the sounds of much shuffling and objects being thrown across the room. "Commoner!"

_Alright, that's it. _She summoned her scythe to her side and drew herself up. She pointed at the door, and visualized the commoner in her mind, being drawn aloft her magic into her hand, preferably with her hand on his throat.

It should have been a simple enough cantrip, drawing on demonic magic to forego the rules of space and teleport the commoner into her hands. Quick and easy.

Instead, after she finished the short chant, _she _found herself being dragged through space, passing straight through the door into his room like a ghost, and colliding with his hunched form.

"Oof!" "What in Hell?"

What had happened? Had she screwed up the spell somehow? Why had it backfired on her like that? For the first time in her successful life, young Hakua Helmium doubted herself.

Keima on the other hand, who'd been briefly knocked out of his self-destructive funk, now found the she-devil's half-naked form on top of him. Undoubtedly, her bare skin felt warm. She was also light. Undoubtedly, she also smelled faintly of. . .

"Gyaaah! No! No!" He pushed her away, and he swiftly crawled backward until he hit one of his shelves, which caused a pile of his games to collapse on him.

"What were you doing, commoner?" She asked after he'd extricated himself and now took to arranging the mess he'd made meticulously.

"It is none of your business to know, she- Hakua." he amended. His eyes wandered from the cover of a game title, up to her half-naked form. _Obscenely stimulating . . . _

"Well, alright – not that I care. It's just that - " she looked distracted, and appeared to be struggling to find the right words. "Whatever personal Hell you imagined yourself being lowered into, know that what you do _in addition to _your current life will still have meaning.

"Consider: these sixty thousand Runaway Spirits are said to be the most foulest beings that have, or will ever be. They feed, like parasites, on your human women, gorging themselves on negativity and possibly even contributing to the ills of your society by controlling their victims from inside. They are evil, plain and simple."

Keima ran a loving finger down the arranged spines of his games. "So you're saying it's in my best interest to aid Hell."

"I'm saying that it's rare to be offered such a job by supernatural beings like us, so now that you have a chance to have some sort of meaningful life. Haven't you ever wondered what would happen if something that you only thought existed in fantasy could come true in your own life? If one day you wake up, and you find yourself famous beyond anything you've ever dreamed of. To live an atypical life, a _secret life . . . _I've read of humans who wished their doldrums could be fixed - "

"Do not lump me in with those idiots." he interrupted brusquely.

"- and put down pen, weapon and barrow for a quest, to storm an ivory tower or find a chest," she continued as if he hadn't, "Well even if you don't feel such things, just remember that for each runaway spirit you capture, there is at least one less human who suffers. Shouldn't that be enough for you?"

"What I desire from life," he began, but he stopped to think. He retrieved one collector's edition PFP from his sacred drawer as he locked eyes with the she-devil. " - is none of your business. But I seem to recall, when I was young and foolish - not yet fully a God," his eyes flashed with hidden fires, "that I once fantasized about a certain cartoon I used to watch. It was the only thing I liked to see on television back then."

"Why are you telling me-" Hakua began, but was stopped by Keima's upraised hand.

He pushed his glasses up while he grabbed a nearby cloth to start wiping his PFP screen. "A team that worked to save the Earth. I liked the one who was a fireman most, because he had a no-nonsense, mature personality and was also the brains of the operation." Keima raised his eyes up for a brief moment, "But he was also a bit of a slob. Anyway, it became time to cancel the show, for some inane reason or other, and this last mission they had, well, they were to get into Hell and rescue some stupid damsel in distress. But first, they had to defeat the minions of Hell on Earth to discover the entrance-"

"Many."

"Excuse me?" Keima glanced back at the scantily-dressed she-devil in irritation, the cloth poised above the PFP.

"No, it's just that-" Hakua began, before fidgeting her body sheepishly. "There are many entrances to Hell. In Majima alone, there are twenty-five, with two suited for mass transport-"

"Is that remotely close to relevant!" Keima shushed the devil, who crossed her arms halfway between embarrassment and annoyance. "Moving on, circumstances in the last episode culminated in the fireman having to save the damsel all by himself. Using his powers, he braved the fires of Hell, smashed the great gates," he ignored Hakua's disbelieving snort, "and emerged from the inferno, carrying the maiden in his arms. And I thought then and there: I wish I could be that heroic. Evidently, my younger self was quite smitten by this dream, yada yada. What does this have to do with what you were saying, you ask? Well, Hakua," He placed the clean PFP on top of his desk. He locked eyes with the devil. "My dreams of becoming the man on a quest have been quenched. I have no desire to set out on an adventure in this reality, no matter how unbelievable it has become for me in the past weeks."

Hakua frowned at the commoner, "So what, you're so self-centered that you can't even find it in yourself to help the victim of a runaway spirit? Some God you are." Keima grunted. "Although I _have_ anticipated your reaction. That's why I have to say something." He cocked an eyebrow. Hakua's eyes glazed with their own hidden fires as she moved closer to grip Keima's collar. "You see, a contract can be willingly broken by both parties."

Keima watched with trepidation as the collar crackled with some sort of energy, aggravated by her twining fingers. He stared defiantly at Hakua, who at this moment really seemed the devil she proclaimed herself to be. "The Mark-IV slave collar, only used on the most defiant, powerful Runaway Spirits. Should the warden will it, the collar would activate, infusing the prisoner with bolts of energy left over from the Great River Acheron, burning very their existences with soulfire for ten times ten thousand years until naught but the empty, dry wind remains, and their screams of agony would persist until the day All is Unmade.

"_That _is Hell's way of punishing transgressors, commoner." she murmured. Keima glared fiercely back at Hakua, refusing to be mesmerized by those red eyes, nor to be swayed by her words. "Would you risk ten times ten thousand years of agony, of pain that you have never felt before in your short mortal existence, just for your own selfishness? Would you condemn yourself and as much as sixty thousand of your fellow humans for your own slanted view?"

After what seemed an eternity, here in God's domain, while his mother raged below, Keima gave a small smile as he replied, cold defiance set in his voice:

"Hakua, you are brave to threaten a God. Know that I shall do this not for your ilk, but for the ridiculous Real damsels and their annoying little parasites.

"But know that one day, I shall storm the many gates of Hell myself, and then I shall come not to rescue, but to destroy."


	6. Interlude II: And the Devil Shall Cry!

"Will you . . . remember me fifty years from now?" The girl clasped her hands in front of her beseechingly.

"Yes, I shall." He replied.

Flames leapt all around the two, bathing their feet in the blaze. They neither felt nor paid attention to them.

"Would you remember me five hundred years from now?" The girl allowed her hair to shroud her face as she hid it behind her hands. He watched her dress dissolve little by little into many fragments of light.

"Yes, I will." He replied. He stood exactly where he was in front of her, neither near nor far.

"Would you still remember me then, a thousand years from now?" The clothes in all their grand finery had dissolved, leaving her as bare as a newborn babe. Tears streamed down her grateful eyes as she locked eyes with her lover one final time.

"Forevermore I shall, my love." He closed his eyes, allowing a stream of tears to fall down his cheeks. "Forevermore."

"I'm glad." Her voice seemed distant now, The flames leapt ever higher, acknowledging a force invisible. The girl was slowly turning transparent. "I'm glad I could spend the moments of my life with you, K-, for being my friend first, my lover second, and my husband furthest. Now I can go fulfill my duties with peace in my heart."

He was silent, keeping his fist clenched to stop them from reaching up and grabbing her where she stood. She was almost gone now, and the room around him started to shimmer with light. He wanted to say a thousand things to her in that moment, a thousand entreaties, a thousand actions. But he knew he could not; he hated that he could not. So he imagined, focusing all his willpower to recall all those images during those halcyon times . . .

He heard a faint sound, like that of small bells clinking against each other, and he smiled, even though his heart hurt so much he wanted to gouge it out -

"And so was the Princess sealed for the final time . . . "

The boy turned, surprised to hear the familiar voice in this place. A scantily dressed girl with big, protruding horns growing out the top of her head stood there, regarding the spectacle with a derisive gaze.

"Hakua," the Capturing God began. "What are you doing here? You never appeared in the final ending she-devil, get out!"

"Final ending, what are you talking about?" He saw her raise her eyebrows in a lovely manner. Unconsciously he brought his hand to his chest where there glowed a fiery stub. "This is the final ending, my dear," she purred, "Don't you remember the conditions that had to be met to meet the final, _final _ending? Oh what am I saying: you're the Capturing God, of course you know!" She laughed, and out from the flames leapt doppelgangers of herself laughing with her. It was a veritable caricature of a nightmarish imago.

"Ah, I get it, it's a dream! A dream! An ending like that didn't exist! I would remember if there was!" He struggled against all the Hakuas that closed in with malicious fingers wriggling. "Pinch! Big pinch! This is just a dream Keima, wake up!"

_If you say so, nii-sama . . . _

Abruptly, the scene shifted, and all the Hakuas and the inferno faded away. Now before Keima stood a tall, crooked winding tower made of inlaid gold and ivory, A fog like static on a television shrouded the surroundings, and all Keima heard now was a faint, crackling sound in his ear.

"So I'm in a lucid dream now . . ." Keima muttered. He felt around his pocket for a PFP he thought would be there, before his ears were assaulted by a sharp scream of metal piercing through his brain.

He heard no more, but he could see through darkening vision. . .

That high above the white-stoned tower. . .

_On the tallest balcony . . ._

**I shall bid you well, mortal.**

_I bid you well, nii-sama._

And thus, Keima awoke. He felt a burning sensation on top of his chest, like a red-hot cinder had been placed there, and he clawed at his chest desperately.

"W-what? . . . " Almost ripping the buttons off, he opened the front of his upper nightwear and looked at his chest. There shone that infuriating amulet from before, burning his chest without leaving a real mark.

He'd really told the she-devil off before when he'd reluctantly agreed to push forward with the contract. Unfortunately, she decided to try out some bizarre ritual with him then and there, somehow involving the unveiling of those pathetic cups. It was unfortunate, because his mother had stormed into his room then, and the impression she'd gotten was that of a newlywed couple on their nuptials.

"KATSURAGI KEIMA! You will not follow your stupid father's lead! That girl is NOT your wife, and if you ever want to take advantage of a poor islander girl, you'll wish you were born as a girl from the start, because your man-stuff will be _off _mister! Do you hear me!" His mother had screamed, her once lovely face transformed into a mask of rage.

Then he'd been left lying in the dust while his mother "saved" Hakua the islander girl, who didn't help his case much when she broke down and _cried., _in stuttering hesitance, about her condition. Did Hell have some sort of acting workshop somewhere in those depraved depths?

Regardless, he was then officially ostracized by the Katsuragi household - which of course, now included Hakua the Islander Girl - and he was forced to clean the mess downstairs overnight (everything glittered with a renewed sheen afterwards though, so he wasn't complaining). And then, just as he was about to settle down to power-game his way through this week's releases, the unrepetant she-devil had returned.

"It's a way of confirming the contract you fool," the devil had said as she held him down with her raiment that surprisingly had great strength for such light-looking fabric. "With this, I don't have to be around you every minute to contact you. I can tap into your soul," there he'd shouted, before she plugged his mouth with the raiment, "and we can communicate along a set distance. This will help us greatly during missions. Don't you see the merit of that?"

He hadn't, and it was mainly because it was such a painful process to bear: it had burned, and it continued to burn his chest many times then; and also because the she-devil had uttered a word and she'd stood stark-naked in front of him (though she had placed a firm blind around his eyes then).

"Remember commoner," she'd said afterwards, and he noticed how she appeared a little flushed in the face, "You have to find a way to explain the presence of that amulet. There's no way you can remove it, though if the circumstances demand it I can exert a little magic to cloak it from mortal eyes." He'd fumed, and ordered Hakua out of the room, using all the supreme presence of authority he had left.

Before he could settle down however, his mother had slammed open his door and given him a sound thrashing, a tearful, but slyly grinning she-devil bringing up the rear. _Oh, his life!_

The Capturing God sulked into his bedsheets for a few more minutes before he rose to prepare for the new week. As he undressed himself in the bathroom, he had the chance to see the amulet up close in the mirror. It was shaped like a teardrop, with protruding unsharpened spikes radiating outward. At the center was placed an emerald jewel-like object. Keima cupped it to his face, before attempting to remove it from his neck. The return of the burning pain stopped him, and he shrugged in annoyance as he stepped into the bath.

"G-g-good morning, Katsuragi-heir," Hakua greeted him as he descended the stairs, but as he was busy replying to all the messages he'd gotten in the PFP, he merely grunted in reply as he passed her to the dining table. Just as he settled down, he felt the combined killing intent from two sources, and he forced his lower face muscles to smile as he turned his head to greet Hakua back.

Furious met fearless eyes.

"Hakua, it's not good to call Keima the Katsuragi-heir all the time. You have to learn to call him by his proper name, isn't that right Keima?" his mother smiled at both of them as she prepared breakfast.

"Uh . . . okay!" Hakua agreed, her face showing the need to please. _Oh you are a very sly devil. I wonder how Hell trains their demons nowadays?_

"Now Keima, since I still don't know what we're going to do with Hakua, she will be staying in the house. Now don't go and spread weird rumors, for we wouldn't want your father's foolishness to shame the family," his mother made a ghoulish smile at the last part.

"Mn." The Capturing God acknowledged without speaking as he stepped out the door, uniformed and starting out the day with a dose of harmless galge on his PFP. Just outside the door, the devil in casual home clothes met him and nodded to the side.

"I know I haven't gotten the time to clarify some other things with you yet," Hakua shrugged, here gaze lowering to where the amulet was hidden beneath his clothes. "But as soon as this infiltration detail gets worked around, I can start patrolling my district for the runaway spirits, which means I can have time to explain the finer details of the-"

Wordlessly, Keima stepped back on the path without looking up from his screen, and Hakua called him back, "Hey, commoner! Were you listening?"

"She-devil!" He raised a hand. "Do not bog down my mornings with your headaches. I agreed somewhat to go along with this ridiculous setup only as far as aiding you in the capture itself. I have thus no intention of associating with you or your kind on times like these when nothing's going on. So keep what information you were going to give me to yourself until I need it," he started walking again, "Good day to you then, Hakua. Don't bother me using your stupid amulet without good reason. I don't want to have to be reminded every hour of the day of my burden."

"I just know you're gonna regret not knowing some things commoner!" She cried her parting words. "They could end up saving your life!"

Hakua watched Keima Katsuragi go to school with doubtful eyes. After giving something in her head some thought, she looked around and summoned her raiment, out from which formed a humanoid shape that looked just like her.

"Hakua dear," Keima's mother called from within Cafe Grandpa. "Come, it's time to teach you the basics of socializing!" She poked her head out and saw Hakua standing outside in a daze. Smiling resignedly as if guiding a child, she cheerfully led the foreigner girl back into Cafe Grandpa, flipping the store-sign from "Open" to "Closed" before closing the door.

If there was one thing that the Capturing God was well-known as, it was that he could walk to school without once looking up from his PFP screen, an almost god-like quality that gave unerring eyes and feet. He walked thus to his high school, his face passive but his mind undoubtedly rooted in a faraway place.

Had Keima minded, he would have noticed the looks of scorn sent his way as he walked through the hallways of the school. Disdainful gazes that brooked of a higher opinion, along with mirthful, malicious gazes followed the Capturing God as he clicked the "New Game" button on the screen.

Classes went by in a flash, and now that it was breaktime, Keima felt the first faint tendrils of the dratted Urge. He looked around at the bustling students and frowned as he put away his PFP.

On his way to the secluded men's comfort room on the other side of Majima High, he became aware of a new sensation: a gaze that seemed to follow him. _This is new. _Keima looked back and narrowed his eyes in suspicion. No curious face popped out in his field of vision, but the feeling of being watched was still there.

Deciding to shrug it off, Keima hurried, mindful of the time left for break and finished his brief "business" at the comfort room. Inside, he noticed the gaze didn't follow him here, though that strange feeling was still there. When he was done, he poked his head out cautiously. The prickly gaze returned, and now the Capturing God was getting sick of it.

A section of the wall the Capturing God passed by a few seconds past peeled away like old paint, revealing the figure of Hakua, dressed in her official Squad uniform. She cast a curious glance at the door that Keima had just left, before she disappeared into smoke after a snap of her fingers.

She spent the rest of the day flitting invisibly through the whole of her buddy's educational institution. She recorded the layout of the area onto her handy raiment, and also performed the customary spirit scan. There were always those who couldn't be immediately detected with Hell's long-ranged scanners, and Hakua was a conscentious devil.

When the sun perched high above the empyrean, Hakua settled down on the empty high school rooftop where she and the commoner had spent hours on that first target. She went to work cataloguing her gathered information. It was important to be prepared for all things, after all, and it would help her and the commoner greatly even if he was ungrateful - not that she cared for whatever the commoner thought or anything!

Halfway through her work, she felt a hand tug her back, and with a yelp she tumbled back into a nearby ornamental bush. As soon as she felt a warm body behind her, her magic fired up between her fingertips as she turned to face – the commoner.

Keima put a finger to his hand, urging Hakua to be silent. Before she opened her mouth to protest in an appropriate indignant manner, the rumbling sound of the roof door silenced her. Turning attuned eyes to the door, she spotted a mortal girl and boy walk hand in hand, shutting the door with haste behind them.

What the two did afterwards caused Hakua to make a huge intake of breath, and she felt warm blood swarm in her head as she opened and closed her mouth rapidly in shock. Then, as if finding herself after a daze, she quickly used her raiment to cloak the bush.

"Wh-what are those two doing in b-broad daylight!" she cried, wishing a mindscourer could wash out that recent memory in her mind. "H-how audacious-!"

"It's quite common you know," the Capturing God replied, apparently unfazed by Hakua's reaction nor the fact that a huge swirling red dome now enclosed him as he pressed his PFP's screen. "There's no need for a devil to be unsettled by this, right?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Well – no, but, w-we were educated o-on proper human d-decorum . . . a-and-" she stuttered, twiddling her fingers in front of her before she summoned her scythe and smacked the commoner on the head. "You! W-what were you doing here anyway?" _How could I not have noticed him?_

"I should be asking you that, what _are _you doing at my school? Did Mom kick you out?" He adjusted his glasses as he glanced askance at the devil. "Well, whatever. As I recall it, _you _were the one who intruded on my lunchtime spot. I don't know what was in your mind, but apparently devils can be so focused that they fail to notice their surroundings . . . "

_"_A simple greeting could have sufficed! What is wrong with you? W-were you planning to a-assault me?" Keima lifted his head to stare incredulously. "Never in your life will I allow that, you lowborn pervert!"

"And now I'm a pervert." Keima rolled his eyes as he returned to his game. "As to greetings, I rightly deduced that opening up an interaction with you would just reduce the time I have left playing through this route, so I wisely chose the better way and kept silent. Though apparently, that backfired on itself," he shrugged and pointed a thumb behind him, where the two students were.

"Of course you're a pervert! And so is this school, for that matter!" Hakua shivered. "How can you so nonchalantly ignore what was happening there, it's like your school's a breeding pit straight from Hell!"

"The question I would like to ask is why would _you, _a devil, be disturbed by something like this? Don't your kind delight in that and many more absurdities? It's so out of character for a devil persona like you. (though I have encountered your sub-type – in games)"

"Hell's changed, you dolt! And you've still failed to answer my question: how can you ignore that- that thing happening back there? Did your idiotic mind melt from your hobby?" She was rapidly settling her mind, not allowing it to return to the kissing, and the groping and the . . .

The Capturing God snorted. "Aside from being a student here for more than five years, I've also been quite desensitized to that sort of thing. After all," he pressed a key on his PFP and showed to the she-devil a piece of full-scale game art showing a scene identical to that outside, causing the she-devil to recoil in a mixture of disgust and shock. "A thousand and more routes, and thrice that number of scenes for each, Hakua. When one is a Capturing God such as I, nothing in the Real much surprises anymore. And acts of copulation between disgusting bags of meat are among them." He stared for a bit more at Hakua's expression, before he shrugged and put his PFP on standby. "Come, I wish to help you familiarize yourself with this school."

"Y-y-you would do that?" Hakua gaped, before crossing her arms in suspicion. "I thought you didn't have time for something like that?"

"Truthfully, I don't. But a good foundation is good for a smoother follow-up. It's like in games, you see," and here his eyes flashed, showing Hakua the PFP screen once more. "Save games can be made for the most conspicuous points in the route so I don't have to press the New Game every time. That is why at the beginning, I have to go root around in the trunk part for easy access to the branches."

Hakua didn't understand that last part, but she did know that this was a rare opportunity to be able to talk to the commoner in a normal manner. So she nodded and placed a cantrip on the both of them, whisking them away from the rooftop and away from that scandalous scene.

They reappeared on a secluded ground below, where Keima stood and dusted himself. "As you can see, my magical repertoire is considerable. As I was the top of my batch of demons back at the Academy, I know a lot of magical cantrips and lore. This is why I'm the district chief despite my age." She gestured, and her raiment expanded to show the portable screen she'd shown Keima before.

"First off," Keima began, "I would like to know the specifics to this thing you've stuck to my neck. Why does it burn?" He pointed to his chest.

Hakua quirked an eyebrow. "It burns? I know it's supposed to burn at the bonding process, but-" she put a finger to the front of Keima's shirt where the amulet was, eyes thoughtful, before she started and drew back her arm in alarm. She then seemed to want to hit the commoner, but she stopped and cleared her throat. "A-a-anyway, as I've mentioned, the amulet acts as a channel between the demon and their minion, though in this case, their buddy," she hastily added at the commoner's look. "It marks the min- buddy as theirs, and the demon can directly communicate to the buddy's thoughts by exerting a bit of magic. That's the bare gist of it.

"For advanced uses, only a demon of higher rank can enable them, and as I am but a district chief, I cannot enable the amulet's higher functions." She waved her hand, and the screen showed a diagram of a line connecting a horned figure and a normal one. "The amulet's range was supposed to be unlimited, but since we're scrimping on energy, it's been reduced to a mile distance. Beyond that, well let's just say Hell automatically assumes the buddy has bolted, and it signals the collar to start working." She smirked at Keima's wide-mouthed expression.

"So that means . . . I can never go anywhere without you?" he exclaimed.

"That's right," Hakua guffawed in a diabolical manner, something she'd copied from her classmates before.

"Oh alright then. Considering that I'm only limiting my activites within the city, there's really nothing to worry about." Keima shrugged in a flat voice.

Hakua spluttered on her laugh, evidently shut down by the commoner's nonchalance, before she grinned and tried another avenue of attack. "The amulet also allows me to use this cantrip." She muttered something unintelligible to Keima, and without warning, the devil disappeared in a cloud of purple dust.

"Wha-" Keima looked around, before noting how his shirt seemed to glow. Taking out the amulet, he noted the emerald shining bright. The devil's voice echoed as if from a far distance in his head, and he looked around wildly before settling critical eyes on the amulet.

"The Soul Casket of Styx. 'By many vows is thine fate sealed, with veiled whispers are secrets sealed.' Neat, isn't it? Aside from a temporary recovery chamber for me in case I get injured, the amulet also has room for the devil to be able to take refuge in, hiding in a pocket dimension inside. From here, I can see _everything _and _anything _you do will be revealed." A dread laugh echoed from within the emerald as Keima shivered.

"A faint victory, devil. I'll grant you that." Keima grunted, before turning at the sound of the bell. "What will you be doing for rest of the afternoon, then?"

"I think I'll just stay here. See what you see. Learn how the so-called 'Capturing God' lives in the reality he loathes." The raiment dissipated before Keima's eyes. "Plus, I have to rescan the old target, Takahara Ayumi, for any signs of the crevice resurfacing."

"Wait," Keima asked as he turned his PFP back to active mode. "Crevices can be reopened? What happens then?"

"Well, there are . . . " Keima spent the next two hours hearing a second voice lecture him on Runaway Spirit methodology, even as he kept his focus on his game.

"I have confirmed the presence of no crevice in the heart of mortal Takahara Ayumi." Keima was not unnerved in the least to hear that from an empty space in the wall next to him where he knew Hakua had hidden herself with her cheap cantrips. Over the top of his PFP, he saw Ayumi talking cheerfully with her friends, seeming almost at odds with the depressed, self-hating girl he'd left in the infirmary. He couldn't put a finger on it . . . it was like she seemed different after the capture somehow.

_Then again . . . _He let out a short breath and started walking the other way. He heard Hakua fall in step behind him.

"By the way commoner, I might like to inquire about the nature of this school you're in." He heard an undertone of disbelief in her voice. "From the way I observed it, not one of your classmates seemed to be quite invested in class. And your teacher wasn't that enthusiastic, too. Is there an infection in the school body or something?"

Keima turned a corner, glancing at the milling faces inside the classrooms he passed. "So you've finally noticed the Ruin of Majima High. Aside from being afflicted with some sort of immorality disease, it's inhabitants also have some sort of bizarre lethargy, causing half-hearted attempts among both students and teachers in relation to the function of education. There are the occasional failures, disappointments, and a _lot _of dismissals. While the combined marks aren't that low to force the government to step forward and examine this school, they aren't exactly high either.

"It's like the school devolved from being a school for achievers (which it was, back when it was an all-girls's school) to a nation of pigs and sloths. I have a suspicion that I'm only top of my class because of that, but well my intellect just begs to differ. Another theory I have is that the CoEd system degraded the school that much, but I believe it's just a factor." Keima shrugged as he stopped at the way to the stairs, tapping his foot impatiently. "In my opinion, Majima High may have just been hit by the spirit of the season."

"Spirit of the season?" Hakua inquired, also staring with puzzlement at the commoner who couldn't seem to decide whether to go down or up.

"It's a term I call that sickness where the collective hopes and aspirations of a people are leached out because of the rampant disharmony in the Real, and finding no outlet of release, turn inward into blatant sloth." He brought a hand to his glasses and continued, "In fact, I conclude that I may have been infected by the same repulsion of the Real, though I can say I am healthily bearing it." He turned to the right where he started climbing up the stairs.

"Fancy theory, and you're not healthy at the least." Hakua replied, following him up.

"You're right. As a God, human conditions can hardly be applied to me." Keima nodded as if assuring himself of the truth. "I have certainly transcended the meagre whims of the Real to a more refined state, though what that is I cannot say."

"How's about, you're just a little annoying bug living among annoying bugs? Oblivious to the world around you and seeing only wooden log in front of you." Hakua remarked snidely, causing Keima to glare at her briefly as he opened the door to the rooftop.

"KYAAAH!" "Damnit Otamega, what the FUCK!"

Hakua hastily shut the door before the two could see any further, and they both stood in silence, he in annoyance and she in shock. Presently, Keima turned to walk back down the stairwell, muttering "It's just like a frigging H-game, this school. . . ."

"I—I-isn't the proper d-decorum here for you humans would be to report to th-the teachers? It's improper!" She hissed in Keima's ear.

"You want me to head into that _pit _and report something that's gonna join the others in a long line of cases like that? Didn't I say that kind of thing was common here? Heck, I might just be jumped by my crazy homeroom teacher . . . " She saw him shiver. "W-well, you just have to do what I do, keep your head down and stay as below the radar as possible."

"What a messed up school you're in . . . " Hakua wondered. "Don't the parents know anything? I wonder how your mother would react to this impropriety."

"I think everyone has a slight inkling." Keima said darkly. "And if Mom doesn't really know, it's best not to trouble her about this. It's not like I'm getting involved. Within this topsy-turvy school, it appears that I'm the last bastion of sanity and decency here." Keima came to an abrupt stop when he crossed eyes with Ayumi in the hall.

The two watched as she quickly averted her eyes from Keima and sped down the corridor in the other direction. Hakua did a rescan with her raiment as Keima stared after her uncertainly.

"Hey, do you think she's-?" the she-devil whispered, before Keima cut her off and quickly made for the exit. "I don't care and I wouldn't want to pry anymore than I need to. As a God, I must keep myself high above the affairs and concerns of mortals. Since she's been freed from the spirit, her business is her own from now on. Unless she becomes a target again, of course."

To an outsider, it seemed that Keima was the only one walking the lonely road out the gates and into the city. Only Hakua knew better, and then again in some ways she did not.

Later that night, Hakua stared thoughtfully at her emptied dinner plate as she watched Keima scurry back up the stairs mumbling some strange mantra about someone named Kanon. The decoy Hakua had been safely dispelled, carrying with it a morning's worth of footage that she would have to familiarize with later, and Keima's mother had cheerfully proclaimed that they would be moving on to cooking lessons later on, whatever that meant.

As she'd be making her report on the commoner's state of mind along with the rest of the reports monthly, she was perceptive of his every move, action and words. His flat unacknowledgement of the blatant disharmony in his school was an indication of _something, _as was his unhealthy obsession with games. Though what that indicated of the Capturing God, she couldn't tell at this point. _Perhaps she'd consult her old teacher of Human Societies? _It would have to be on a time when she thought there wouldn't be any missions, as her old teacher liked to wander Hell without telling anyone at times.

Hakua bid a stuttering thanks to Keima's mother before going upstairs herself. Her mind mulled over the new knowledge she'd gotten in the day. Since it seemed to be in her blood to analyze every aspect of something with great depth, it took far longer for her to decide whether to take up Keima's mother's suggestion of a bath as she sat inside the room she'd been given.

And as it was, she was still in a flurried state of mind when she stepped into the bathroom, having already stripped herself with an impatient cantrip, and then and there came directly face-to-face with the commoner, who stood in all his naked glory before her.

They both stared blankly at the other, one in a daze that spoke of a delayed reaction within the mind, and the other in mild annoyance. Finally, it was Keima who broke the tense atmosphere that seemed to hang in the air like a poised knife:

"She-devil," he began, without once appearing to take notice that a naked woman was standing in front of him. "I have yet to even start my turn in the bath. Please try again in thirty minutes."

"Ha- hawa- hawawawha-"

"I suppose since it's your first time," he _frowned _at her as his eyes glided down to her chest, and she saw them scrunch up in pity, "It's a rule, you see. I get a little over an hour in the bath in exchange for cleaning up the store for the same time. I suppose Mom didn't bother remembering that last bit when she told you to come up here."

"Sh- wh- Bububub-"

"No matter, now you know," he said dismissively as he turned away, "And I would appreciate it if you didn't make the same mistake again, she-devil."

"_Ashj Maz Enkil rakas DAKU_!" Her shout was drowned out by a powerful boom of force that echoed into the night, borne of a wave of magical fury that consumed everything in its path – in this case, everything human and inhuman in front of Hakua Helmium.

It also seemed to extend into the house right next to the Katsuragi's as the police report indicated several days later.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

"Have you no shame, she-devil? You willingly destroyed part of my house and now you approach me calmly like nothing ever happened?" Keima was rightly furious, though he still didn't know the reason why Hakua had gone all apocalypse on him last night. He supposed it was some sort of flaw in a Real woman's system. Amazingly enough, he survived the blast with not a scratch on him, yet this he attributed to his god-like stature.

He'd not seen Hakua the morning after and assumed she'd run off to tell her superiors about this fiasco. Thus, he was relieved, as he was assured of another free day. Until of course, lunch break, when he spotted the devil run at him as if all the hounds of Hell were at her back.

"Commoner. It's important, a new spirit's been detected." Keima's eyes widened in surprise. _So soon? _He'd assumed a cooldown of sorts in between spirit sightings, lasting for one, two months – a year maybe? A God could only wish. He saved his game as he lent an ear to the unrepentant devil.

"Your target this time is another Majima High student: Aoyama Mio."


	7. Friends in Low Places

AN: busy, too distracted here's next set still no computer

* * *

_Everyday, he would always be there before me._

_I would wake to the sound of his voice._

_I would bid "good mornings" and "goodbyes" to that face._

_I would return home smiling, greeting him "I'm home!"_

_Everyday, he was there in front of me._

_And every day seemed bright and full of life._

_But now he is gone._

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Immersed deeply in a route, the Capturing God Katsuragi Keima leaned forward in his seat, bringing his face close to the screen as he repeatedly tapped his mouse. A fearsome fire glittered in Keima's eyes as he concentrated on the audacious CGs that flashed before his eyes.

Behind the erstwhile gamer, a sinister red circle slowly made itself manifest on the wooden surface of his floor. Runes glittered and danced across its surface as the purple haze it emanated intensified, until a blast of violet heralded the form of Hakua Helmium, who slowly and sinisterly ascended like the devil she was from the floor. She carried on one hand her weapon of office, on the other her skull ornament that usually perched on top of her head. A rapidly beeping light could be seen within its eyesocket.

The she-devil glared with disdain and exasperation at her buddy, but as her eyes saw past his head and to the screen that he was so busy staring at, her ears turned a shade of tomato red and she quickly raised her scythe: and brought it down with all the feminine fury she could muster.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

_And now I walk alone_

_I'm sad, but I don't let it show._

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

"Foolish mortal commoner," Hakua spat as she towered over the prone form of a bruised Keima. "Your contract awaits fulfilling. Are you deliberately letting our heads roll?"

Keima rose with all the dignity a god could muster. He could endure a lot of things: extreme hunger, Physical Education sessions, or a very dirty room, but that did not include getting interrupted right as he was in the very climax of his game. His furious eyes saw the credits rolling on the screen, and they wandered down to the skip key that the she-devil's scythe had pressed on.

"Thanks for playing!" said the final words on the screen.

_I missed the climax! How dare that devil deprive me of the climax! Now all the magic is lost!_

". . ." Heat steamed between Keima's ears as his trembling arms sought to pull him up, and he prepared to unleash God's Wrath upon the impertinent she-devil who dared intrude upon his domain.

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_I wake to the sound of creaking wood._

_I bid good mornings to a thick slab._

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

"KATSURAGI KEIMA! YOU WILL NOT DISRESPECT THIS HOUSEHOLD WITH YOUR SHAMEFUL HOBBY! I DID NOT RAISE YOU TO BE THAT WAY, YOUNG MAN!"

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

_But no, no goodbyes, not yet._

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

One could see the dry tears that had settled on the Capturing God's cheeks as he morosely made his way to school, invisible she-devil in tow. Hakua was purposely avoiding looking at the commoner with a blushing, annoyed face; Keima just looked annoyed.

"A-anyway, it's your fault in the end," Hakua began, and Keima sighed as he turned his head to seemingly address thin air. "And in _the end_, your Hell organization owes me two PFPs, a computer screen, and one PP3. Don't worry, there's no interest."

"I told you I was sorry, right?" Hakua countered hotly. "I didn't know your mother would react that way." Though as a devil, she knew she would have to find a way to recompense the commoner, as stated in the contract. She wondered if he knew that part of the contract, too.

"Hakua." The two stopped before the gates that lead to Majima High. Countless students filed past them, some of them bumping straight into Keima's body without apologizing. Keima looked like he was debating whether or not to go to school. "For now, you must do your end of investigating. You must gather preliminary investigation on the target."

"Huh?" Hakua blurted out, her mind stuck on the revolting idea of apologizing to the commoner..

"Not 'huh?'. It should be 'Yes, then I shall see you later.' Honestly, a devil can't even follow a simple instruction?"

"Oh, so that's what you were talking about! Ahaha!~" Hakua rubbed her hands together when she finally realized what he meant. Her expression turned serious as she nodded afterwards, "Understood, I shall have them before your lunch period."

Unknown to the two, each was secretly glad that the other was taking this new assignment seriously. Hakua, most of all, was impressed again at the sudden change in the commoner's demeanor whenever something like this came up. Perhaps that would be a point to bring up later in her reports?

Keima continued, "The only thing I know about Aoyama is the name of the family, I hear it was some kind of prestigious family in Majima. Beyond that, I can only say that she had never been in my class to my knowledge. Because of that, I have almost no data on her, unlike Takahara from before." _A high-class girl then. This will be tricky . . . _He looked at Hakua's raiment, visible only to him. _But then again . . . _

He turned briskly, and to the outsider it seemed that he'd finally decided on entering school. "Alright then, let's meet again at lunch break. Same place, but signal if there're any 'strange' going on up there." He ran a hand across his chest. "Later."

"...uh, yeah, see you later," Hakua replied distractedly as she wondered at the commoner's crisp, business-like demeanor. After casting a last look at the commoner's receding back, she slowly floated up in the air and off in another direction.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

_Anything else is admitting defeat._

_He gave me one last gift._

_Out of all the glitter and the dazzling dolls, this was the best._

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

"Hey commoner," Hakua said, after standing in uncomfortable silence beside a pensive commoner. Keima had been concentrating on a slip of paper she'd given him upon their meetup at lunch. It contained all the information she could get on the Aoyama family, her target in particular. It displayed all pertinent data, arranged meticulously in a table she'd prepared in less than a quarter of an hour. "What are you thinking?"

"That at first glance, this seems to be more straightforward than I thought it would be." Keima handed the slip back to a dubious Hakua as he tapped the screen of his PFP absent-mindedly. "A common rule in bishoujo games: the rich, lady-type heroine involves a lot of tower-scaling within the route. Imagine, if you will, the story of Rapunzel, who waits high atop her locked, solitary tower. It is then the task of the protagonist to weather the seemingly impossible odds and rescue her, overcoming the differences in social standing (if there are any that exist, there are protagonists that start off rich) along the way.

"But this," he gestured offhandedly with his hands. "is an unusual, but not unheard-of case. The lady who secretly hides a fall in fortune: it must surely rankle her pride or at least dial down her personality by much. She will either be a humbled little maiden, or most other times she will be so proud you can almost feel the spikes preventing entry into herself. All that then, can be determined once I formally delve into the route." Keima sighed as he pulled out a piece of cloth to wipe his PFP.

"So you're saying this will be easier than last time?" Hakua asked doubtfully.

"Not exactly, but types like her are usually easy to figure out." He saw the she-devil cross her arms expectantly, goading him to answer with her doubting eyes. "That is to say . . . " He suddenly pointed a cloth-wrapped finger at Hakua, who recoiled in reaction, "Her type: purity encased in a tough exterior!" The she-devil arched an eyebrow.

"Outside, she may seem tough and are generally quite violent, and look down on people like they're peasants," Keima rattled off, "but inside, they are delicate, pure; waiting for the prince who shall coach her delicate feelings out. Yes, I'm sure of it!"

"But you've only seen her picture," Hakua pointed out, holding her raiment in front of her on which the target's face was displayed, "How can you be sure without-"

"Yes, I'm sure!" Keima cut in, fires blazing in his eyes. His face leaned close to Hakua's. "Cat-like eyes! Noble, light-hair color! Pigtails and a wide forehead! Might also be prone to moments of extreme violence! She's definitely probably maybe ninety-nine percent that type of girl!"

_Whack!_

" . . . if only she were only short it'd be a hundred percent . . . " The Capturing God slid gently down the fence he'd been slammed into. "Anyway, her type is easy to plan out for, if you just be as forward as you can- uggh!" Keima had rebounded, drawing his face close to Hakua's again, and it had earned him a knee to the groin.

"Keep. Your. Face. Out of. Mine's!" The she-devil gritted out as she beat on Keima with the handle of her scythe.

The Capturing God recovered fast. "I can go through with this in many ways, Hakua. I can be the peasant who captures the heart of a princess with his commoner charm. Or I can be the blunt knight, whose bumbling actions captivate her heart. I can be many things, Hakua, and with your help, I shall follow a route to capture that spirit."

"My help?" She coiled her fingers around her scythe tensely.

"I mean your magic. Since you claim to have an impressive repertoire of demonic magic, I intend to use it as much as possible to my advantage to capture Aoyama-san within a short span of time. Are you ready?"

"D-don't expect me to recreate reality for you, commoner! Even demons have rules to follow!"

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

_So I walk through life holding that gift aloft._

_A torch against the unknown._

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Keeping a firm, straight face and a strong, proud back, as she had been taught long ago, Aoyama Mio walked swiftly towards the school gate, her high-heeled shoes making distinct clip-clops on the concrete. She kept her eyes focused before her, not moving left or right but straight forward.

Outside the gate, she waited, school bag in one hand and a package of buns in the other, her arms crossed and her eyes staring out coldly. It looked like she was waiting for someone.

Many minutes seemed to pass, as the crowd of students exiting Majima High all around her gradually thinned until she was left all alone standing in front of the gate, still waiting for something. None of them greeted her, she didn't allow herself her friends after _that _incident, and they all drifted away after some time.

A chill breeze wafted in behind her, making her twin ponytails sway like lonely banners in the wind.

She now tapped her foot impatiently, marking the ground with the blunt part of her shoes. Finally, her eyebrows twitching, she shouted into the empty air, "Morita! You useless servant!" Mio took a few deep breaths, before looking around quickly to see if anyone had heard. She frowned upon seeing none, and she sniffed audibly as she started walking. "Forcing me to walk home, no decency at all . . . "

After a few meters she stopped, looking around her in confusion, "Now which way was home again?"

An hour of aimless walking in the forest of steel and concrete later, and the little lady was now looking worriedly at the lengthening shadows the people cast behind them. Despite this, she clutched her packages close to her chest, refusing to look in any way scared or lost. Her cold face was set like a porcelain doll's, never turning from a cold expression.

She turned another corner, hoping to at least see a familiar landmark, but then she bumped straight into someone. It was strong enough for her to stumble back, but she forced herself not to fall, dragging her feet painfully on the ground. She scrunched her eyes and cried, "Fool, watch where you're going!" She was prepared to give a stern reprimand, and saw it as a way to let her frustrations out.

The lady student faltered when she saw the group, and the woman whom she'd bumped into. They were clad in black tuxedos, with black eyeglasses that implied they were bodyguards of sorts. An elder lady stood in front of them all, looking stern and wearing a crisp corporate uniform and with hair tied up in a tight bun. Mio was now locked in a glaring match with the lady, but before long the latter relented and bowed apologetically, "I'm sorry, but please watch where you're going from here on. Also," the lady pushed a slip of paper from her hand onto Mio's face. It showed the close-up picture of a lean-faced boy who stared grimly at the camera through square-framed glasses. "Have you seen this person? He should be walking around in this city, and I was hoping you'd have seen his face somewhere. It would be a great help to us."

"No," she denied slowly after looking at the photo for a few moments, her gaze turning up to meet the lady's, who'd been watching her closely all that time. "I can't say that I have."

"That's too bad. But if you do find him, please contact the nearest man in a black suit as you can see. I've posted them all around the corners." The lady gestured to the trio of men behind her.

"I will try to accomodate you," Mio bowed formally, as should be done, "but as I'm about to go home, I'm not sure I can meet that man now."

"I understand." The lady turned and barked an order to the men behind her, who nodded and walked past Mio. "A pleasant day to you then," The lady greeted, before following the men.

Mio shrugged, and continued on her way.

She found her way home eventually, though the stars had wheeled up in the sky then.

She tried to contact Morita on his cell, but the fool wasn't answering her call. Inside her room, Mio threw the phone down in anger, before sulking into her bed. All she'd eaten for dinner had been the days-old buns she'd been carrying all day.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

". . .s_o what was the point, then?"_

_"Wait and see."_

_OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO_

The next day, Mio absentmindedly munched on another couple of buns as she cycled through her cellphone's inbox. Most were from her mother, wishing her well, except for one, very important message at the bottom of the list. She sent another message to Morita, before huffing impatiently and preparing herself for school. She slammed the door of her room behind her.

During lunch, she made her way to the rooftop of the school, her mind adrift. When she discovered that it was too hot up there, she fumed in annoyance as she turned back to the stairs.

Classes went by in a flurry of after-images, and then it was the end of school again. Mio stared at the package of bread in her hand, both buns immaculately uneaten, before grunting and dropping it into the trash bin.

She knew the way to home now, but she didn't go straight there. She let her feet carry her back into the city.

She let her feet carry her straight into and bump into another person again. Again, she prepared all the righteous fury she could muster.

And again Mio froze when she saw who she'd bumped into.

Hooligans! The worst sort her father had warned her about! With their ill-dressed bodies, and unpleasant faces, and odor, and everything else that reeked of evil hooligans! She stood her ground, for she was an Aoyama.

"You lowborn beasts, please refrain from clogging up the streets with your filthiness!" she began, hoping to cow the beasts beneath the force of her power.

"What the fuck is this bitch saying, huh!~"

One of them sniggered. "Hey _aniki, _you think we can hit that bitch tonight?"

She felt their filthy eyes travel up and down her body, and she shivered in spite herself. "Get you gone, lowborn rascals!" A pain hit her chest, as she remembered all her father had told her about the malcontents of the world. Mio bit her lip to stop the tears from showing.

"Gangway!~" A crunching sound made her look up, and to her and the hooligans' surprise a plank of wood swept out and knocked the rascals all down to the ground. Mio stared in shock as the man who held the plank grinned at her goofily, before slamming the plank down and running toward her.

"Come lady, let us depart!" He grabbed her arm, and too quick for her to react, started running, dragging her along. Behind her, she heard the hooligans' angered shouts.

"I . . . have never . . . ran that long . . . before . . . hah . . . " Mio took in deep breaths as she placed her hand on her chest.

"Yes, I . . . know what . . . you mean . . . " the man wheezed out, his hands on his knees.

For the first time since she'd been dragged off, Mio took a good look at her savior. She was then surprised to see that he looked exactly like the man she'd been shown a photo of before. "Um . . . " she began, not knowing how to proceed in this case.

"No need to fear, fair lady!" She saw the sweat dribble off his glasses. "Simply all in a day's work for a lord, I say!" He grinned and pulled a thumbs-up. The man coughed and rotated his arms in his sockets. "Still, that plank was certainly heavy, though as I was in a bit of a rush then, I had no choice. Personally, I'd have preferred a hot-blooded moment of fist-cuffs, but I saw no reason to endanger you further."

"Wh- who are you?" She'd finally regained her normal rate of breathing, and she now stood proud, arms akimbo and returning to her stern expression. She decided it would be good ot show a bit of caution in dealing with this apparently wanted man.

"Katsuragi Keima, at your service," the man swept off an imaginary hat off his head and bowed courteously. "A youth of wit, and grit and keen eyes! A pleasure to meet-" He reached for her hand, before she slapped it away in both fear and anger. The man blinked, before recovering quickly and smiling, "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, dear lady."

"Katsuragi . . . " she repeated slowly, mulling over the name in her head and finding nothing. She kept her face neutral as she bowed, giving her required thanks. "I thank you for your timely intervention, but as I have other matters to attend to-" _Liar! "_I shall now take my leave." She turned to walk back to the street, weighing her options.

Keima dashed in front of her, still that strange, ever-present smile on his face. "Then allow me the pleasure of escorting you to where you want to go, unknown lady. We shan't have you getting into trouble a second time!"

"N-n-no really, I'm fine-!" she insisted, even as they spent the next few seconds having a fencing match with their hands. Keima then stood, tilting his head quizzically as Mio briskly brushed against him in her haste, "What a stubborn, pretty lady."

She froze in her feet at that, _that audacious _declaration from a near-stranger, but as she turned to shout at him for the last time, she felt his hands on her shoulders as he pushed her out of the alley, and further down the street.

"Let me go! What are you-" _This is not p-proper!_

"Now now, _ma'am, _this is not the time to refuse help when it's freely offered. I shall escort you to your destination with utmost haste! And uh- where was your destination again?"

_Whack!_

"Y-y-you have some nerve . . . "Mio fumed, her fists clenched. " . . . T-to lay your filthy h-hands on th-this . . . " She clenched her eyes, demanding her heart be still; herself to cool down. She was finding it hard to maintain the Aoyama grace.

"Dear ma'am, you have a stronger right hand than it seemed," Keima told her, his hands rubbing the place where he'd been hit.

"D-don't ever come near me again!" she shouted as she turned on her feet, and fell, unbalanced by her shoes. The falling sensation lasted for but a second, before she felt a warm hand on her back, and another grasping her outstretched hand.

" . . . careful, my lady . . . " Keima mumbled, a look of genuine concern passing over his face. Then she realized his face was too close.

_Whack!_

"A lord like you should know better than to get within a lady's private space!"

"I apologize for that, and well-" Keima started rubbing the back of his head awkwardly.

"Let's go."

"Uh, what?-" He gaped.

"Weren't. You going. To escort me?" She stabbed her finger into the air at him. "Hmph, well I don't care either way." Mio started marching down the street.

"Oh, please wait, lady!~~"

It was less than an hour later that Mio realized she was lost again, and she took it out on Katsuragi. He offered to buy some refreshments, but she turned him down with all the force she could muster.

"Merely for your thirst ma'am, for I am concerned-"

"I-I told you I didn't need it, idiot!"

A short time afterwards, they were standing in front of her family mansion. Keima spent some time gazing up at it in curiosity, before he was shooed off by an impatient little lady.

Mio watched him go with haggard eyes, and when she was sure he'd turned a far corner and left, she walked straight past the gates where she'd used to enter and headed straight home.

The first thing she did upon setting foot in her room was to drink a whole bottle of water from the fridge.

_OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO_

_"Quite the convincing display, though I don't see the point."_

_"You haven't seen the rest yet."_

_". . . So there are no doubts?"_

_"Oh I still have doubts . . . ultimately the rest might just rely on her."_

_Whack!_

_"I expect 'Yes' or 'No'! You can't afford to be vague!"_

_OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO_

Mio dreamed of a silver-bound knight, escorting her through windswept fields. She tried to see his face, but then found herself falling into a darkness – an ominous sensation that woke her up. She stared with misted eyes at the cheap fluorescent lamp overhead, and frowned.

Again, she tried contacting Morita, anyone; but all she got was cold silence. Mio stared at her hands, before finally deciding.

That afternoon, she _purposefully _got herself lost again, and was not disappointed to meet that audacious youth.

"Ah, it's good to see you again ma'am!" Katsuragi bowed perfunctorily.

She ignored him, turning her gaze here and there, searching for something. Yet again, she allowed herself to be "escorted" cheerfully by the stranger.

"What can you tell me about yourself – Katsuragi?" She worded her question carefully, as her father might have done when interviewing a potential employee. They both sat on a secluded area of the park, her sipping on a sweet cream shake and him licking on a pink-flavored icecream cone. "For example, where do you come from?"

"Oh, somewhere out there," he said flippantly. He pointed in the direction of Majima. "Somewhere . . . east, I reckon. Might need a little flight to make it quicker."

"Flight?"

"Oh, you know, flying on a jet. If I still had mine- well, let's just say I'd have found it easier to go back home, before."

Mio challenged him, "Oh, so you can fly planes then? How on earth did you manage that at your age?"

"Please, dear lady, you speak to Katsuragi Keima, one who cannot be denied everything! When there is a challenge in front of me, I tackle it, when there is an obstacle, I destroy it! If they'd had their way, I'd probably be flying a space shuttle by now!" He chuckled loudly, shaking his head ruefully. "Not that it would've been possible- before. . . ."

Then he deliberately turned back the conversation to herself; and she closed up, heading back home before the day could end.

The next day, he'd ambushed her from inside a suspicious-looking, beat-up car. She screamed obscenities she never knew existed in her mind all throughout the "ride", while the idiot just laughed lightheartedly.

He'd barreled them up some decrepit temple stairs; and when the engine stalled, she escaped, stumbling, dizzy, to a perch overlooking Majima. Katsuragi followed, panting, and she yelled at him some more for good measure, before settling down to catch her labored breaths.

"Terribly sorry . . . I wasn't used to outdated stick-shifts . . . Probably why they just left it _there. _. . I'm sure the old owners got fed up with it too. . . "

"From where did you get that hideous beast?"

"Just found it in that junkyard in the city. Convinced the owner I could make it run again, for a bet. He was a good sport." He smiled, showing off that confident superiority she found herself hating.

"I have _never _had someone driving a car like that before . . . Morita was leagues ahead of you in control." Her eyes widened.

"Morita? Who's he?"

"M-my. . ." she stuttered, cursing her slip-up. "-my old driver."

"Oh. Oh~~ Dear lady, does that mean you used to be driven to school before?"

"Y-yes, what of it?" she replied defensively.

"Oh nothing really. Why isn't Morita driving you home now? I'd imagine-"

"Don't get that stupid idea! That stupid idiot's just being a truant good-for-nothing who can't even get his job right! We, the Aoyamas are still a family in high standing, and we will always be! I'll make sure of it, and I don't need that Morita's help, or anyone's help! Daddy's legacy belongs to me! It's mine!" she shouted, before again faltering when she realized with horror what she'd just blurted.

Her face burned when she saw the shocked look on Katsuragi's face, and then she buried her face into her head and let loose a piterous howl behind clenched mouth. _How disgraceful of me!_

None of them said anything more after that, as he drove them back to the city – slowly this time.

She didn't look back as she rushed down the street, didn't look left nor right as she shut her door behind her and buried herself into her sheets. That was the longest she'd spent crying ever since _his _funeral.

"_See you later then . . . Aoyama-san."_

She ceased crying for a second, her tears streaming hot down her blonde hair when she realized he'd just called her like that.

The next day was a Saturday, and she left school early. She found him resting on the same bench they'd sat in, tracing circles on the dirt.

"Hey you," she kicked his shin hard. "Go get me something to drink."

"So what are you going to do about it?" Katsuragi asked her bluntly, after basking in the afterglow of another near-escape from a bunch of hooligans.

"It's none of your business. And stop speaking to me so familiarly; I never gave you permission Katsuragi." She kicked him again.

She gazed with hard, cold eyes at him, as he too stared unabashedly at her, uncertainty explicit behind those glasses. Again, she felt her face heat up when he stroked a stray lock of hair from her face with his finger.

"I apologize, it's just that . . ." he looked away, "I just can't bear to see your beautiful face become lined with worry. I find it . . . unacceptable."

"Your concern is unsolicited," she scoffed. She almost shrieked in outrage, again, when his hand came down on her head, and started patting.

"Dont. Treat me like a child!" She waved her hands, trying to get at him, while he kept her at arms' length. _How dare he- how dare he? _Presently, he squashed his hand into her head, and she stopped, her face suddenly downcast.

"It's just that . . . I've never had anyone . . . p-pat me like that s-since . . ." A lump formed in her throat as her vision blurred around the edges. She did the only thing left to her then, even if she did dislike doing it.

Mio grabbed his shirt, and cried.

_OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO_

_" . . . undestand what's taking so long . . ."_

_". . . From what little I undestood, devil, it seems to be better to ensure the gap doesn't resurface. That's part of what I'm aiming for here."_

_". . . Whatever, at least the spirit doesn't seem to have gained power much. . . "_

_"Oh joy, the enemy hasn't leveled up yet . . . the good news for me then is - that's not my part anymore! So do your job, Hakua!"_

_Whack!_

_OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO_

"Hey, hey have you heard the new rumors?"

"What? Tell me!"

"Well, it looks like Aoyama-san has a boyfriend now, and it seems to be a foreigner!"

"That Aoyama-san? But I heard her family's-"

"You think she's-"

"Whoaa, you're thinking too much-"

Mio stood at the street corner, her two hands holding a pair of frosty shakes that she'd actually taken the route of buying. She stared, dumbfounded, at Katsuragi's retreating back, after the boy had just up and ran off all of a sudden. A few moments later, she had her answer when dark-suited men rushed past her, heading in the same direction as her knight's.

Across the street, her gaze met with the woman's she'd encountered before, and unmistakably she felt a chilling force sweep through her back. The lady's eyes were narrowed, and Mio tried her best to look resolutely back without failing.

"Aoyama Mio. Last scion of the Aoyama Clan. A current of student of Majima School, one of the worst educational institutions in the entire country. Might I inquire as to your relationship with young master?" The lady peered down at her severely, as if she was scrutinizing a bug. Thankfully, Mio stood resolute.

"Katsuragi is my temporary servant, and companion in distress, duress and idles," Mio replied haughtily. In truth, to her, he was more than that, but she would never admit it out loud (even to herself). "I fail to see how it is any business of yours how I conduct _my _affairs."

"'Katsuragi' . . ? You dare use the honored family's name so flippantly? If we weren't in a public place I would flog you for your impudence, brat! In fact, I should do just that!" The woman's eyes blazed.

Mio knew all about Katsuragi; he had related to her his circumstances as she related to him hers. It was one of the many topics of conversations she'd had with him on their nightly strolls through the Majima countryside.

She knew of his status as a fallen lord; disowned by his family and relatively penniless, the same way as her. She . . . "admired" the way he was able to adjust to his condition, how bold and mature he seemed as he faced his challenges head-on. It was quite different from how she was currently managing hers, even.

"Listen, girl. Now that we've finally tracked the young master here, I've no qualms of doing anything with the family's resources to drag him back to his rightful place as the successor of the Katsuragi! And that means I shall not have you using your female guiles to ensnare him."

"How unsightly of you people. You were the ones who disowned your supposed heir in the first place, and now you wish to drag him back against his will? Forgive me if it's not _my _business, but how impudent are _you_ people?" She raised the shakes in front of her like makeshift weapons. All Katsuragi's promises of preserving her honor and dignity, and here she was doing the same for him. _The idiot should be grateful for this!_

The lady, to her surprise, grinned and let off a mirthless chuckle that rang clear in the cold afternoon. "Ah, as expected of the young master. I apologize, it seems that _he _has caught _you_ with his charms. Such a silver tongue . . . Excellent! He shall not want for finding prospective mates in the future, then. . ." the woman trailed off, staring with a sort of embarrassed pity at Mio.

"What on earth are you rambling on about now?" she demanded.

"Well, as you can't possibly shoot the messenger in your condition, I shall provide the answer for you. No doubt the young master has led you to believe that he was the black sheep of the family, that he has been. . . disowned by circumstance from the family, making him deal with his life in such an admirable manner . . . The truth is, poor girl, that the young master, brat that he is, had irresponsibly left his duties to the family as the heir and gone truant, leaving his poor family to pursue him despite his blatant disrespect. You see now: the image has been reversed, the poor disowned heir has become the spoiled little lord who gives priority to his desires than his duties." Again, she laughed.

Mio trembled where she stood, the words striking deep and hard into her core. Everything had been a lie? Has she just fallen into that man's trap, after all? Unbidden, her golden image of Katsuragi Keima, her self-proclaimed knight, cracked and frayed.

The lady left, bidding a scornful goodbye, and Mio was left holding the melting shakes in her limp hands. The liquid flowed down her fingers, staining the ground below, together with the tears that flowed.

No, this was no cry of relief. This was a cry of betrayal.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

_". . . what I dont's undestand is how flawlessly you slipped into the role. You have many facets to yourself, commoner. Shall I see you parading in a woman's dress next?"_

_"Shut up. I only took on the role of the side-antagonist, and it takes any amateur to fill that role._

_"The role of the side-antagonist is primarily the barrier that separates the protagonist and the girl towards the end of the route, but is not really the conflict in her route._

_"He or she may not even be adversarial, but by dint of their words, they will drive a wedge into the relationship that has been established."_

_"So you're able to take on that role because of your games."_

_"Naturally. I've seen them crop up too much that I've no choice but to memorize their choice and manner of speech. So many personalities to adopt, yet they're all the same in the end – the jealous best friend, the lady's disapproving father, the scheming love rival – all united with the same purpose. That's why I can mimic them with little deviation._

_"As God, I have no limits."_

_"I understand . . . though, you may want me to get that costume off of you now. Y'know, before you grow into that permanently. It happens, sometimes."_

_OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO_

_"_You shameless perjurer! Deceiver! Good-for-nothing liar! Liar, liar!"

"If you'd just allow me to explain, Aoyama-san-"

"No, I won't allow it! You're just going to give me more lies again, as you've done before. I won't have it! I'd rather you be quiet-" she sobbed, bits and tufts of grass falling from her clamped hands. All was still in the evening time, and Mio had confronted Katsuragi the Liar with all the force an angry Aoyama must have.

"How could you- how could I? To be taken in by a brute like you- How dare you deceive an Aoyama like this! You must have had a motive in pulling me in, perhaps to use me in your schemes? Maybe I should have followed through on my initial intention to turn you in! You've been nothing but- but _trouble _for me since the day I met you Katsuragi!"

"My lady, I-"

"And I spent all that time listening to you, admiring you, wishing that I had the strength to be like you, or to have the courage, or your cunning; but contenting myself to be served by you, to have you by my side, knowing you would do me no harm, that you would be my-" she started throwing grass again, but not at him. "- yet in the end . . . nothing but a liar, all those flowered words you said, you snake! Did you even enjoy doing all those things for me? Did you even enjoy _being _with me? Were your promises to me nothing but honeyed deceptions after all?"

Keima moved to envelop her in his hands, but she recoiled, baring her fists. "Don't touch me, you liar! This will be the last time I shall ever talk to you! Starting tomorrow, I shall begin making my own path as an Aoyama, and I won't let anything distract me again! I will be a proud Aoyama, as Daddy-"

They both stiffened, that word being a sensitive one between the two of them; who'd shared secrets in this very spot. Mio averted her face from his, eyes burning with the sting of betrayal, showing many things that she felt at that moment.

"Aoyama-san," he whispered softly, letting his voice carry through the light breeze. "I am truly, truly sorry for- well, no words of mine can explain for-" he bit his lip. He staggered over to the nearby tree, running his fingers across its coarse, aged trunk. "I'm sorry I hurt you with my lies, but please know that- that-" Katsuragi grunted painfully. "-my feelings for you . . . were genuine. I was truly, honestly happy to have spent my time with you, Aoyama-san. My days before were spent in dread for my determined future, when I would long to be free of this guilded cage. And then when I got out, for the first time in my life, I had no purpose. But then the days after I met you came. For the first time again, I saw a way out. I saw hope. Those days I would wake up, and await the afternoon, when I knew you'd be free, when I could have the chance of showing you a lot of new things, and I would learn from you. For me, you are-"

"Please stop."

Mio set her mouth in a determined little line. "I- you- we have our responsibilites from now on. Those days have ended. You must not shirk your duties to your family. And I have mine to fulfill as well."

She turned, and now their backs faced each other. This was their spot, where they enjoyed viewing the city and talking about nothings, yet now here they faced away from each other like strangers. A colder, stronger night wind blew between them.

"Aoyama-san."

"Goodbye, Katsuragi. For a moment, you were my silver knight. I thank you for reminding me of the legacy Daddy has left me." She said in a clear voice, free of any previous emotion it had.

Aoyama Mio left that place in a trot, leaving him as well.

Unerringly, she homed in on her residence, passing by the rusted, ironbound gates to the former Aoyama mansion. Inside, she spotted the cellphone by her bed, and she moved to grasp it, but she stopped when she saw the silly cards that Katsuragi had bought her as a prank, in what seemed like a long time ago. Then she trailed her gaze to the hidden altar to the side, and her head bowed sadly. She looked all around he apartment, from the spoiled, uneaten buns on the corner, to the small, dirty bed at the center. Her eyes went back to the cards.

Mio turned the light switch off.

Back at their secret place, the Capturing God stared out across night-time Majima with a brooding look. His hands were poised to start up the PFP that they held, as if their owner was debating to turn it on or not. Eventually, he did, and with it came the simultaneous, telltale sound of otherworldly Hell-magic behind him.

"Whew! You know commoner, I've never expected to use so much of my magical repertoire in my stay on this realm, but ever since I've been partnered with you, you've proven me wrong!" Hakua raised her arms in the air. "For here I am, performing illusionary spells and conjuring up as many images as I can, and overusing my invisibility cantrips, and-" Hakua stopped in the middle of her rant, looking suspiciously at the Capturing God. "Hey commoner, are you listening? Are you still being – what's the term – 'in-character'?"

"No, devil, all I heard was a distinct keening sound passing into my ear and going out the other. Eeeee~" Keima made a cutting motion with his free hand. "And no, I'm perfectly a Divine One now." The Capturing God looked down at his PFP, ignoring the continuing outraged rants by the she-devil, and breathed out softly. "Now for the end-game event. My die will be cast tomorrow."

_Whack!_

"Listen to me when I'm talking to you, commoner! You are dealing with a devil here!"

"Ah, but I am a God. A God who can die, incidentally, because of a grievous error made by a low-ranking devil-"

"Low ranking? Did I not mention District Chief status, commoner bug?" Hakua drew herself up. "No low-ranking magic would have served you in this deception of yours, so I suggest you apologize on the ground before I unleash it on you."

"Unfortunately, as you well know, I am in somewhat of a tight schedule. I shall still need to use your magics some more to achieve the climax." Keima placed a hand on his chest. "And then, the epilogue, and after the credits!" He loudly proclaimed. "The ending is quite clear: I can see it. But then again," he continued, and this time he looked straight into Hakua's face. "I couldn't have done this without you, Hakua." Static crackled around her scythe as Hakua felt her face redden. "For that, I am eternally grateful." Keima smiled radiantly at her.

_Whump!_

"Y-y-you . . ." The she-devil took in great, deep breaths. "Don't you dare use your perverted mimicry on me! Do you want me to demolish your house again?"

"Hmm, about that . . . " There was a crackling sound as Keima turned from where his face had been smashed into a tree trunk as he looked back at Hakua. "Did you get in trouble with your superiors for your little incident? You did end up demolishing our neighbor's house. You should've seen the looks on their faces when they showed up at the cafe."

"Hmph! A Devil, no rather, a District Chief such as I is allowed certain privileges concerning the magics. So long as we do not directly and maliciously target humans, Heaven won't take notice." Hakua crossed her arms and nodded as if assuring herself of that fact.

"Hmm~" Keima considered what she'd said.

"Why'd you end up asking about that anyway?"

"Oh, no reason. No _major _reason at all." Keima had started playing another new release. He was hideously behind on many games, and he was even considering marathon night sessions to keep up.

"I thought you'd say you were concerned or something, but I guess it's too much to hope for," Hakua stopped herself. It wasn't like she wanted him to be concerned or anything! She shook her head from side to side. All this work was probably taking their toll. _That's right, that's probably it. _And she knew who to blame for that.

_OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO_

_"Nii-sama, what's taking so long . . . "_

_OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO_

She had a lot of things on her mind. She really needed to talk to her mother. She knew her mother was busy.

But she needed someone to talk to. Morita was out, the fool had never once answered her calls. Katsuragi-

_No! Don't think about Katsuragi!_

Right. Eyes front, seek out the goal. Be an Aoyama, as her Father taught her. She knew what to do – she had to find a way to retake her family's standing.

But how? _He _had died too early to teach her the more complex parts of the family business. The most important thing he'd left her was a commission, and an exhortation – to be a proud Aoyama to the end.

_What if she were to negotiate with the woman- No! Don't think about the liar! _

She made her way to the library, using the singular skills of the queer little librarian there to gather all the books on money-making.

"Er . . . um . . . money-making's such a b-broad subject . . . b-but I'll do my best . . . "

All 1,902 books on the subject had been gathered in front of her, carried by two carts. Mio stared from the pile of books to the girl, and then back at the pile. Her knees stumbled from under her.

As she sat morosely at her desk, she caught the image of that popular idol, Nakagawa-san, on the cover of a periodical her classmate had brought. Could she possibly use that-

_"Ah~ I have no patience for those kinds of things. I'm sorry, but it just feels as if you're marketing your body-" NO! Get out of my head, Katsuragi!_

Aoyama Mio stared at her palms, and discovered that her hands were empty.

_Whoosh! _

"Gyaow!" Mio was knocked aside by a force like that of a speeding bullet. With a resounding thud, the object smashed into the pillar behind her.

"H-hey, sorry are you okay?" The missile girl helped a dazed Mio to her feet. The stranger noticed Mio's expression. "Hey, are you really okay? Do you need to go to the infirmary-?"

Mio knocked aside the girl's hands with a suppressed outburst as she turned to run, run as far away as possible.

"Useless Morita, useless!" She threw the offending cellphone into the sewer grate. She couldn't rely on anyone else after all.

_Don't cry, don't break down. Rememberwhatdaddysaid. "Be strong and proud, Mio. For one day-"_

_One day what? One day-_

_" . . . one day I hope to settle down in a quiet town, and find a steady job. A simple job, where I can live out the rest of my lives comfortably-"_

_A flash, She'd been angry._

_"Such low aspirations! You don't ever want to be great?"_

_"I require nothing more," he'd shrugged. "- well, besides you Aoyama-san."_

Mio stared at her hands once more. She found them- holding something?

She blinked. There, in her hand, was a certain ceremonial ornament, shaped like a flower of some sort. She'd only ever seen that design once-

_Katsuragi?_

Mio could hear cries nearby. It sounded like a scuffle of sorts. She rose, and followed the noise to its source.

There, on their favorite meeting spot, was Katsuragi, on the ground, with many bruises on his face. Arrayed all around him were the black-suited men from before, and they all took turns using their feet to beat on her fallen knight.

_Katsuragi!_

She shut her eyes. How could this be happening, right here in front of her? She'd figured Katsuragi had left, discouraged from her rejection of him a few days past. Of course, she knew him to be a stubbornly persistent man, but hadn't she made her wishes clear?

Didn't he have responsibilites of his own to fulfill?

_"And what responsibilites might those be again, Aoyama-san?"_

_The pleasant smell of sunburnt grass all around as she shifted her knees on top of the handkerchief he had laid out on the ground._

_"Why, to fulfill my proud duties as an Aoyama, of course! He would not have had it any other way!"_

_"Hmm~ But, are you sure- and forgive me if I might seem offensive – but are you sure that's what he really intended for you?"_

_"Don't be foolish-"_

_"Bear with me for a moment. Aren't you taking your duties far enough? Wouldn't he have been happy for you to spend a meaningful life instead?"_

_"Such idiotic notions-"_

_"_-don't push them on me!" Katsuragi screamed from beneath the pile. Mio jumped from her hiding place at his sudden declaration.

That foolish knight of hers . . . he looked so much in pain . . .


	8. Mio End: Lovers in High Places

"Did you really think I would be put down so easily?"

He rose, weathering every blow, and broke through their formation with a groggy, but sure leap. He took in deep breaths, blood caking the side of his face.

"I've already made my wishes clear to the family: I desire and hold claim to my own life!" He dodged a punch, got hit on the shoulder, and countered with his own.

"What meaning is there in doing your responsibilites when it cannot grant you freedom? The freedom to direct the course of your life, to see the compass clutchedfirmly in your palms?" He caught a blow with both of his hands and delivered a swift kick to the attacker.

"Though I be destitute as a result, I shall triumph, for I shall start at the bottom. From the bottom, I shall work hard, following the dictates of my heart, and ascend to the top in full force!" He reeled from the force of a blow to his face, but he held firm, even as he was again tackled.

"By no means am I irresponsible. Every day, I will be faced with the possibility of want. For that, I shall work twice as hard here, putting my whole heart and soul, rather than half of it in that constricting cage. Because I know that I am at least _free._" Katsuragi roared a primal cry, and swept the closest man's leg from under him.

Even with all his efforts, the men were inexhaustible. Mio watched with trepidation as two pulled out some sort of weapon from their sinister coats.

She shut her eyes.

_"Be strong and proud Mio. For one day, you will use that pride to face every obstacle in your path. But remember, you must not let your pride make you look down and disregard the smallest things. A mighty tree always has to start as a lowly sprout."_

"Daddy. . ."

She let her hand fall, and she felt her hands brush against the flat surface of some rocks. Mio looked down, and with a grim-set face, grasped the object and hurled it with some force at the closest man.

_Thwack! _The stone connected surely with the man's head, and he went down, hard.

"Aoyama-san?"

Katsuragi looked with surprise at where she'd stood up from behind the bush as she hurled yet another, and another.

_Thwackl Thwack! Thwack!_

"Excellent! Always knew you had a mean arm."

_Thwack!_

"Ow! I'm sorry-"

"What are you waiting for idiot?" She ran over to where he stood, still dripping with sweat, his clothes torn. All around them, the grunts were beginning to rise from her barrage. She grabbed her arm, and together, they ran.

"I've never . . . ran so far so soon. . . in my life . . . " she collapsed, her back against his front. Uttering a yelp of surprise, Katsuragi caught her, but not without unbalancing himself, and they both fell down in a heap on the grass.

"Gr . . . aren't . . . you going to scold me?" She heard him murmur tiredly into her hair. "For . . . 'exceeding the space allotted to knights' . . . " Each one could feel the other's heat radiating from the other.

"Today . . . is the last and only time I'll allow it." she huffed, before allowing the cool afternoon breeze to wash over their prone bodies.

They passed thus in silence, two bodies settling on the other's warmth. It was some time before Katsuragi spoke. "Aoyama-san, I have to apologize again." He paused, waiting for her response. Hearing none, he continued: "Hearing you say those things to me before, I think it shifted my gaze a bit. To date, I have been somewhat irresponsible when it came to my family. I was just so tired of them deciding everything I did from the very start . . . But then you came along; you taught me so many things. So many experiences – I only hoped for more to come. It was . . . liberating for me, to say the least. But then – that night . . . " His voice trembled.

Mio spoke now, clear and inspired, "I also, admit to having learned many things from you. Some bad, some audaciously so – but some good as well. I learned how it could be to follow the dictates of your heart and bve free, unbound by concern for image and status. To realize the ripeness of life, to discover its precious value . . . yes, there are many things I thank you for."

It was a strange thing, for as Mio stopped, Katsuragi responded, as if promptly replying to her in a duet only these two souls shared. "I realized that there are times for play, and there are times when you have to work. I've seen the value of putting your entire self into a cause, not just for mere survival, but for the posterity of experience . . . "

"Like both sides of a coin," she finished for him. "I saw the truth of valuing your time in life, not wholly devoting one's time to thankless duties. For my part, I realized the value of joyful freedom."

"And I, of the necessity of sacrifice for the sake of duty." Her free hand sought his, and those fingers laced together. Aoyama Mio had a proud blush on her face as she turned to look at her knight's face, so near . . .

"Are you sure that it is what your Daddy would have wanted, Aoyama-san?" He whispered, gaze clear, steady, but warm in their depths.

"Yes, and I know that he wouldn't have had it any other way." She shut her eyes, waiting for the inevitable touch.

-Of the feel of her flesh touching his, in that briefest instant in both their shared lives, each having bared their own selves to and accepted the other's-

A wild rush of wind, and Mio saw no more.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

For Katsuragi Keima, Capturing God of many women (Aoyama didn't count), that moment was an entirely different one. It had been Hellish to be forced to kiss a girl for the sake of a contract – for the second time in a year - yet he'd done it nonetheless.

The runaway spirit's appearance, on the other hand, was an entirely different, but still Hellish matter. It was black as soot all over, with red gleaming eyes where its head should have been. It was a swirling, vaguely humanoid mass, and as it was forced out through the girl's purest feelings of love, it desperately grasped with gaseous tendrils at the things in the Real.

"**Must. . . have more . . . need to make it mine . . . "**

It's voice echoed in that secluded place, and it was all Keima could do by grabbing Mio's unconcsioucs form and dragging it gently to another place.

"Damn! Where is that she-devil when you most need it!"

The thing's tendrils multiplied, and it shot them out in random directions, wiggling, seeking something-

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Hakua sat cross-legged on the dusty ground, using her scythe handle to idly scribble out practice magic-runes on the ground. After each symbol was completed, the runes glowed impotently, before the devil would frown and scrub it clean.

It had taken two weeks – a manageable time, but far longer than it had taken the previous target. She'd undestood greatly when the commoner had mentioned the resurfacing gap consideration – which mollified her in showing how exactly he'd taken to heart her various explanations on how the Runaway Spirit capture worked.

But still – it was quite a long period. (had there been a bet, she would've surely won this time. ) Hell_ did_ put a condition of a whole month using the Love-Love Method before it would have been treated as time wasted, which meant that the commoner was well within his rights to continue thus. But it was still quite a long, arduous grind, with all of her magics put to his disposal, his ruse.

And then there was the commoner to consider: Katsuragi Keima, who had yet again violated her preconceived notions of what a normal human should be, as he dared to dabble in unknown magics that weren't his own and using it exclusively for the contract – were it not for the stacks of games she'd once seen on shelves in his room, she would have guessed him to be some sort of ascetic. The man had many aspects, and as she'd seen before, was capably of wearing any mask "if it suited him".

_"Do you doubt the power of a God?"_

Great, she was dwelling too much on things like these again. Her old instructors had always commented on how she always over-thought things, to the point that she would always have "above-average" instead of "excellent" scores during impromptu spars between the young devils. In those Hellish duels of magical acuity, it was the quick-thinking and instinctual fighters who triumphed most. It was not a frustrating quality for her, because she took pride in being the best at what she could do, but it still rankled her pride nonetheless.

"In a combat situation with a powerful Runaway Spirit, you have no time to make a long plan at the onset. You have to create new scenarios, spin up better plans in your mind as you fight. You do not always have the luxury of time out in the mortal realm."

She knew and understood all that. That was the reason why she always took frequent re-scans with her skull ornament on the target, to ensure the spirit's level hadn't exceeded her expected preparations for it. She had many different battle plans floating around in her mind for each type and level of Spirit, and she assured herself that it was indeed enough, if for whatever reason a shift in the combat conditions would occur and she would have to adjust. _Hell, she hated that word._

_Though she had been so easily knocked out of commission during the preliminary mission . . . Wait, don't dwell on that!_

Just then, a wave of intense, swirling invisible energy washed over her, and her attuned senses picked up on it immediately: it was the horrifying stench of Old Hell, signifying the release of the Runaway Spirit. As Hakua stood, her hands poised on her scythe, her skull ornament beeped a desperate call: "Level 3, level 3 spirit . . . "

_Should she port, or should she fly as normal? How soon would level 3 spirits act to find another host?_

According the various texts she'd read over her years in the Academy, Runaway Spirits could theoretically amass a sizable amount of negative energy, turning itself into a focus for the kind of energy it had taken in.

"'It coincideth thus, and beware: the energies of heedless pride will make them invincible . . . of unspeakable terror will make it incorporeal . . . ' " She couldn't believe she was muttering old lessons. _No time! Must make it to the commoner to neutralize it!_

It was certainly a formidable-looking Spirit, Hakua found, when she spied its tendrilled form towering over the ruins of the temple like a misbegotten Japanese forest demon. Hakua's sensors immediately picked up on its condition, that is to say, it was still weakened from its release.

Uttering a word mortals were forbidden to hear, Hakua ripped open a small portal to Hell under her feet, out of which streamed out the energies she would use against a Spirit of this magnitude. With expert ease, she traced ten runes all around the circle, stabilizing the portal and binding it to her.

Some of the Spirit's tendrils shot towards her, and she coolly sliced them apart with her scythe. Hakua watched with a certain detached, yet determination of purpose as the thing looked down and saw her for the first time.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

It boggled the mind, thought the Capturing God as he lay watching Hakua beside a tree with an unconscious Mio in tow, that the she-devil could be so . . . so masterful when it came to things under her jurisdiction for the first time.

Sure he'd guessed at the amount of power she held in her repertoire: she was handing out illusionary spells, conjuring soild, black-suited simulacrums out of her raiment, and using invisibility cantrips left and right; but now, he was looking at a different Hakua.

Her purple raiment coiling menacingly around her, her scythe held to the side and her left hand glowing many shades of red, Hakua looked almost like the sorceress-heroines he'd captured in his life as the Capturing God. No, not almost – she exceeded that image, and were it not for the stubborn part in his soul, he would have rightly feared a creature of that caliber.

The Spirit roared, raising its tendrils to strike, and Hakua just batted them aside, and seemed to be goading the creature on with her unintelligible words. The circle below her spike in intensity briefly, before a barrage of neon-colored missiles shot out from her pointed finger, battering into the Spirit's body with some sort of mystical hiss.

No matter what the Spirit could do to menace her, Hakua stood her ground and when it attempted to engulf her with a mass of tendrils at once, she uttered something, and suddenly a shield of pure _fire _surrounded her and repelled the tendrils, and the Spirit howled in pain.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

The brute was trying to escape! "By Ancient Styx, be you bound by these chains!" Invisible whips of energy whipped out from her hands, seeking the fleeing Spirit and encircling its maddened form. It suddenly stopped moving, bound by Hakua's cantrip.

Hakua consulted her sensor again, it had yet to be weakened sufficiently for capture. If she cast another cantrip, she would risk releasing the brute from the binding. _What do I do? _

_"Think Hakua. Don't let your mind freeze up on every occassion of change. Learn to flow with it, and guide the situation's course back into your favor."_

It was then that she remembered her own embarrassing weakness to instant porting, and so she found her answer – however a gamble it might be. Channeling the energies below her and suffusing her entire body with it, Hakua took a deep breath and cleared her mind of all external thought.

She shut her eyes, pointing her fingers and uttering that risky cantrip – a literal spacebending spell that would swap hers and the brute's body's positions in real time.

A rocking sensation followed her spell, followed by the familiar dizziness that came from instant-teleportation. She found herself in midair, facing the spirit who was spinning confusedly in place at her own position. Hakua shook her head, forcing her mind to focus on the task at hand.

The binding spell had broken, and it was only a matter of time before it would deign to escape. But she knew it wouldn't, she had placed it right on top of her own depleted magic circle, out of which still flowed the energies of Hell.

Just as she expected, the Spirit spent some time after recovering from its own disorientation feeding on the meagre energies that were left, and Hakua took it as her queue to start winding up her big spell to take it down for good.

A blast of unbridled magical force hit the spirit straight on, and then after a cry of defeat, it finally started regressing to its initial stages.

After confirming with her eyes on the spirit's critical conditions, Hakua summoned the Sealing Container, that innovation on the part of Hell's scientists designed to specifically capture the Runaway Spirits.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

To Keima, it looked like a jar. Was that really where she'd be capturing that spirit? It looked so small and unreliable, and even though he'd seen that the spirit had shrunk some, it was still quite big – too big for that flimsy jar.

Yet slowly, the spirit was being dragged by some strange vacuum into the jar, and Keima watched with detached amazement as Hakua in a businesslike manner, held out the jar in front of her as she turned her eyes to the side.

Eventually their eyes did meet, and there were so many things that passed in that moment. Was some sort of respect born in that relationship? Was there some sort of change in perception at all? Was there in fact, a change at all? When Hakua pulled away first, Keima did the same, and they each wondered about that and many things besides, too.

He looked down, and to his horror found his hand firmly placed on top of Mio's breasts (however unremarkable they were) and withdrew it as if it was a red-hot pot.

"Dangerous, dangerous," he muttered as he pulled out his cleaning cloth, already putting it to work scrubbing his PFP clean. He looked up at Hakua, who had sealed the spirit inside without a hitch. _Huh, capture complete then?_

_All's well that ends well, right rightamirite?_

_Oh damn it! I thought I'd already gotten rid of you! Shut up and go back into my empty delusions!_

_Ididntevengettodoanything mu~~~~  
_

_Don't pop out for no good reason! I'm already doing what you ask!_

_Butits stillnot enough_

_. . . . _

_Hah~~ Oh well, I still have an eternity Ican wait for as long aspossible_

_"Next time let's play eh, nii-sama? I am pleased . . . for now."_


	9. Imaginary Chapter 2: Second Step Slipup

It was only after he noticed his little guy acting down there that Keima Katsuragi realized he'd made a grave miscalculation.

Everything should have been prepared, the scene with Hakua's little conjurations beating him up in the park, and then he'd wait for Mio to come, and then he'd signal for Hakua to stop, and then he'd do his heroic stand.

But he had made the mistake th previous day, of not doing - _that._

And now he suffered an intense feeling, familiar, but horrid nonetheless. It was as if something was crawling up and down his body.

_Do you remember this pain?_

It was all supposed to look good, look authentic. Though Hakua had raised objections about the scene, he had still prevailed, citing his god-like status as well.

_Solongago niisama_

He wondered if Hakua wasn't just taking advantage of this moment to really beat up on him using her conjurations, and he would certainly not put it past the she-devil to do that.

He wanted to signal her to stop _Where was Mio? _But then he remembered telling Hakua to only let up when Aoyama had spotted the ornament, and it looked like-

Something broke, and he felt with a scared intuition the bones of his wrist crack under the simulacrum's pressure. _She-devil! _He pleaded to his amulet. _It's going too far! Lets abort! _He wanted her to hear. He felt pain lance and radiate across his arm, excruciating him, and

_excitingghimfurther_

A hundred other bones broke in that moment, and something else broke as well.

OooOoOoOoO

Sometimes Keima would dream about that day, as he watched the sea roll and churn in the darkness below him.

He knows it is a dream, just like this life of his is a dream.

In that dream, he is a God, who transcended time and space to capture a thousand girls.

In that dream, he meets a little devil, and they argue about this and that. At times, they cross over to the other side and plot.

In that dream, he falls in love, briefly with a girl who falls in love with him.

One detail he always tries to recall in lucidity: did he leave the girl, or did the girl leave him?

Whatever happened to the little devil?

He only remembers waking one day on top of a pile of bodies, in the midst of a ruined place.

He remembers seeing a girl's body as he rushed to relieve his stomach, to free himself from the pungent smell of burnt flesh and fresh blood.

He remembers screams, a heated exchange, and a life is again lost.

He remembers nothing else.

But he would dream, and each time he noted every detail, every action, examining each from every angle.

And he would try to come to a conclusion.

It is the only pastime that occupies his life.

Tomorrow, he will arrive at a new place. He will disembark, and he shall find his way on sure land once more.

* * *

Vivian's Note: R n' R for our poor distracted writer lololol


	10. Interlude III: PreStorm Peace

Author's note: Looking hastily back, I see my girlfriend has taken the liberty of hijacking a last minute AN of her own near the end of the last bad end. While I normally don't do reviews, I do submit to her statement that it will encourage some "connecting with reader" empathy. So I have no restriction from reviews from this point on, but do not expect me to reply, or point it out in a future author's note, unless she explicitly states there's something (suggestion, insight, criticism) that needs to be addressed. "R&R" up to your discretion. Merlin out.

* * *

AN: this will mark divergence from canon, but without any description of canon hell's geography, have nothing to work with. (well, alternate universe to begin with, not to mention the missing info like elsea's bigsis) consider splitting up the Kanon route? Shall see. In the meantime, work on chapter 18 of Lamperouge Breaking afterwards

" . . . and so the buddy, Katsuragi Keima of the mortal realm, was able to use the Love-Love Method to expose a Runaway Spirit after a period of ten mortal days, nineteen hours, and thirty-one minutes. " Hakua Helmium paced around the pyramidal object in her room, holding a sound receiver to her mouth. She watched the scene unfold just as she dictated to the receiver the events that had happened during the capture.

"Side-note: the buddy has once again shown to have remarkable analytical acumen, as demonstrated by his statement (see above) concerning his consideration of the reopening of the gap; and seems to have shaped his own plan of capture based on that consideration. Furthermore, the buddy has also demonstrated what seems to be an innate acting ability, as shown above when he used the Illusionary Word: Disguise Variant 10 to deceive the target with an adopted persona." Her eyes widened critically upon seeing her own figure still sitting cross-legged some meters away from the two mortals.

"Continuing, after the Spirit was freed through the Buddy's efforts, a wave of energy then erupted, estimated to be at around a fifty kilometer radius as after-capture scans indicated, which signalled Squad Member Hakua de Rotto Helmium of the Spirit's release. Hakua then proceeded to intercept the Spirit, having already prepared the necesssary protective cantrips around the area." She adjusted her study glasses while peering at her clay version, who flew at impossible speeds to reach the spirit's location instantaneously.

"Preliminary cantrips in place, the Member then proceeded to carve out a magic circle, created within the parameters set out by the Regulatory Committee. The seal was Superbian in design, and was chosen thus because of the latent high defensive power it could-"

A powerful boom made her almost bite her tongue, and the she-devil was nearly knocked into her recording pyramid. It did send her glasses flying, and Hakua stood in furious silence later as she waited for the dust to settle behind her.

The Capturing God stood in the doorway, in his usual cleaning attire with various cleaning supplements inserted here and there, and held a cleaning broom in his right hand like a veritable magician's staff. Hakua beheld his magically battered form as he glared at her, and she restrained herself none as she glared back.

"What in Hell are you trying to do, idiot!" They both shouted in unison, each cry rending the atmosphere between the two.

"She-devil. My mother has tasked me to clean out the house yet again, and I would appreciate it if you would not delay me anymore than I need to! I have a really big backlog thanks to that capture, so please. Stay out. Of my way!" Keima rushed into the room, before Hakua forestalled him with a brandished scythe.

"Commoner! Proper human decorum states that one should knock before entering a room that isn't theirs, and you have once again violated that without any qualms whatsoever! If you had just bothered to attempt to keep up the front of human decency, then you would've known better than to enter the room by force!" she quivered in anger as sparks flew from her hands to the blade of her scythe.

"What on earth are you talking about? I _did _knock. All I ever did was one knock on your door. And you know what happened then? Boom! The door explodes right in my face." Keima retorted levelly.

"Don't you dare lie barefacedly like that, commoner! That protective cantrip was meant to eliminate intruders who would breach the entryway!" Hakua countered hotly, apparently quite taken aback by the commoner's audacity to lie.

"Well then, maybe there was something wrong with your spell," Keima replied with sarcasm, before adding, "For that matter, why're you even enchanting my house like that in the first place! That's a violation of our mortal rights right there!"

"I did that, to prevent _this _situation from happening. And if you try saying my spellwork's off one more time, I'll soon be shooting fire down your throat and out the other end." she threatened fiercely.

The both of them took a single, deep breath when they realized the clash of masteries wouldn't be going anywhere: Keima wanted to finish cleaning, and Hakua wanted to finish her report promptly before she had to return to Hell. And so, Keima started his job by sweeping. Hakua cleared her throat, picked up her fallen reading glasses, and restarted her recording.

"Just don't interfere with my task."

They each shot the other a look as they went about their duties, and Hakua adjusted her glasses while reactivating the microphone in her hands.

And . . . nothing. Nothing came frustratingly to mind. Whatever report she should have dictated into her device had been apparently washed out within the preceding five minutes. Hakua closed her eyes, took another deep breath, and opened her mouth to speak, but found herself unable to find the right words (and she was indeed concerned, because it was required of district chiefs to have impeccable reports). Sighing inaudibly, Hakua's ears twitched at the scuffling sounds near her as Katsuragi set about his cleaning task.

Hakua looked to her right, her hands poised on her scythe indecisively. Perhaps now would be a good time to find out more about the enigmatic commoner? The clay figures in the pyramid stood frozen in simulated time.

Katsuragi was extremely meticulous, thorough, but also expeditous in the manner of cleaning. Disarranged things were laid to the side with one hand while the other immediately followed up with a sweep of a cloth or broom, even as the first hand swung around to apply moistener. Then it was the task of drying, then arranging, and then shuffling over the dust that had been expertly gathered at the center into a portable bin.

Katsuragi was relentlessly focused on his task, the she-devil found, and no sooner had he finished one side of the room – from ceiling to corner – when he started on the other, casually side-stepping the gigantic pyramid in the room while taking care to sweep in a respectable area around it. The Capturing God was masterful here as he cleaned; as he was in his other (perverted) specialty – Hakua could see that – he was a storm of sanitation, obsessively so.

Katsuragi paused, looking sideways in his labour at the she-devil, and frowned. "What? Have I disturbed you in some way, contract holder? Is there some spot you need cleaning? Your scythe, perhaps . . . ?"

"Such an idiot." Hakua pursed her lips haughtily. "No mortal cleaning agent can ever be enough for my Scythe of Proof." She put a hand to the side of her glasses in a knowing manner. "It requires certain liquids extracted from the lower Realms of Hell, potent enough to incinerate if handled directly; yet just mild enough to add that extra sheen to a weapon . . . " she trailed off, finally realizing what she'd just blabbed. "Well, disregarding that, to answer your question, I was merely curious about another, hitherto unknown part of you commoner. I knew you almost always undertook the cleaning in your household, but I've never actually observed you up close until now."

"And?" Keima turned back to his task of using a scrub to remove a stubborn stain on the wall. If that didn't work, perhaps he'd have to paint over it . . . He wondered how that had got on there, and remembered he hadn't cleaned this room since before the she-devil had come. "Is there some magical, devilish insight that crossed your mind just then? Would I be interested to know about it? Definitely not, but curiosity is an odd bug that keeps me pressing on the Enter key . . . "

"Well, from what you've allowed me to glean from your mortal lifestyle, I would have to say that aside from your dubious hobby that infuriatingly adds the color to your otherwise drab existence, you also have the frustrating capability of surprising other people with a 'talent' (if I may call it that) and that includes your odd cleaning trait. Has it been something your mother has had you do so many times you've acclimated yourself to it?" Hakua asked with more than a little curiosity in her tone, as an attending might ask the newly-admitted patient.

Keima shifted uncomfortably. "I've had this 'talent' for as far back as I can remember. It's not something I'm proud of, but it's something I use, nonetheless."

"But you have such talent with it! It completely clashes with your normal image-"

"Let me stop you right there, she-devil." Keima interrupted briskly, pointing the end of the broom at Hakua. "I have no intention of sharing any more reflections of my inner self to anyone – certainly not to a devil like you. It's as distasteful to me as having to capture a Runaway Spirit in someone like – Heaven and Hell forbid - Nakagawa Kanon. So let me just give you a little tidbit to ease the worries inside that devilish brain of yours: I also have the God-like talent of being able to clean AND play my PFP at the same time, like a juggling act. You'd probably acknowledge my divinity if I showed you. Unfortunately, long ago my mother wasn't quite so amused; and made her wishes known to me quite clearly. (that was also the time she started the record of PFP tossing distances; they still continue to this day) And now everytime it's my turn to clean, I'm effectively not spending my precious minutes playing through a route, which, as you know, is my own personal view of Hell. What am I saying, you'll ask? Nothing, except to point out the obvious of me having a job that I have to do as quickly as possible, without any distractions. In addition: it's uncomfortable, unsettling and downright creepy to even _entertain _the thought of you observing my every action, but as I have no other recourse other than willingly submit my head to decapitation, I'm forced to be creative." He slammed a stack of linen down in front of him. "Don't go into my room, don't touch my things, don't look in my computer, don't take my PFPs, and definitely don't go into my room – unless I'm there to kick you back out again. I don't care if you're curious about my past with my mother, that odd classmate or Hell, even that weird librarian of Majima High: the point is, don't go touching my things because you devils like cataloguing data on humans, and because even if you did – well, you still wouldn't know _me_." Keima breathed out loudly, before glaring at Hakua full-force. "And I do NOT want someone else than my mother tampering with my possessions."

Hakua turned on her microphone, "The common- er, the buddy also has the tendency of touching, nay _molesting _innocent mortals in public; and is also a blubbering coward inside, evidenced by him falling over himself to seek shelter behind the Runaway Spirit Member-" she fired off into it, watching with a twisted delight as the little clay Keima scurried off to cower behind the gloating clay Hakua, incidentally leaving the target unguarded and vulnerable.

Keima had also watched this transpire, and his eyes narrowed in a perverse glint of retribution as he swiped the microphone, "Side Note: Hakua Helmium is an insecure devil, and always has to have another's presence close by to be able to function." He watched with almost the same expression on Hakua's face a minute before as the Keima figure now stood tall and commanding while tucking a frightened Hakua under his arm.

"Katsuragi Keima is a deformed man-creature whose physical appearance is as twisted as his soul-"

"Hakua Helmium enjoys the feel of another's flesh at the tips of her fingers, to placate her low self-esteem – probably owing to her insecurities concerning her breast-size-"

_Whack!_

Hakua slapped Keima away, grabbing the microphone as he crashed into the side that he'd already arranged and cleaned, and spoke, "Katsuragi Keima is a pervert, a lover of all things perverted, forever and ever and ever to infinity!" she then chucked the microphone out the window.

Keima recovered, glancing furiously around at the mess that had been made, and as he turned to render a bout of harsh words at the she-devil, he stopped, as she had, at the sight that now unfolded from within the pyramid.

"K-k-Kwaaaah! What the Hell have you caused, commoner worm!" She started laying it on him with the butt of her scythe, magical sparks making deep, ashen indentations into his cleaning attire.

"Y-yours was the last- ack! -word so shouldn't- ow! -aren't you the one at fault – GYAOW!"

"Shut up, shut up, shut up, I don't care, I don't care anymore, you're indecent, perverted-"

Behind them, miniature screams of something akin to what the Capturing God has heard a thousand times before were uttered, in parts pain, pleasure, and outright perversion all around.

Hakua began charging a cantrip, little plumes of fire now dancing on her fingertips as she pointed them indignantly at the commoner.

"Hey! St-stop that, won't you be destroying the house this time! Show restraint! She-devil? She-devil! She-deviiiiiil-"

Keima's desperate cry was drowned out by the sound of a muffled boom, and of the smell of overcooked pork (of all things), as he found himself suddenly staring at the open afternoon sky.

_What the-_

He felt unsupportive air behind him, and he suddenly felt the unmistakable sensation of falling for a few seconds before he landed with a painful grunt on the house's rooftop. He lay there, stunned with his back lighting up so many pain receptors, before a slight, screeching sound alerted him to Father Gravity starting to drag him sliding down the contour of the rooftop- until finally falling down the side of the house, Dazedly, he looked to his right; and there was that microphone the devil had thrown.

A grumbling, bruised (and battered) Katsuragi returned to Hakua's room, and he held up his hand as she tried to apologize, before sliding a finger across his mouth silently and pointed her to her pyramid device. He then chucked the microphone at her feet, and picked up the broom where it had fallen before.

An embarassed Hakua continued her report as Keima scrubbed off the black soot of magic-refuse that had gotten everywhere the room, including a Keima-sized outline of ash on the ceiling, and on the floor directly below.

Hakua glared at nothing in particular, focused on angrily deleting most of the offending recorded work. She glanced at the magically induced stains and frowned, as if she'd just seen an unsolvable riddle.

"What _is _that thing, anyway?" Keima muttered, mostly to himself. He turned his gaze just an inch and found them meeting the devil's, before quickly turning back to his work. "It seems to be quite the intuitive device."

"This is just a standard recording device that District Chiefs – like me – and other high ranking Hell workers are given to facilitate our record-writing process." Hakua adjusted her glasses clinically, as she continued with a bit of hesitation. "Of course, there are other . . . variants, but I prefer using this because I can be precise with every aspect of the report."

"You're an obsessive devil, aren't you?" Keima shook his head in disbelief. He ordered the columns of linen by color. "Of course, if you were anything but, I don't think I'd have managed much as a – what do you term it again – buddy."

"I'm quite flattered commoner," Hakua crossed her arms acerbically. "You can start supplicating me now."

"It's purely self-interest, Hakua, nothing more, nothing less. In the end, you are nothing but a figment of the Real, MY Real. As long as you exist in my life, I shall try to resist you, but if I cannot, then I will work to make sure that you don't interfere in my life any more than you should." Keima discovered the existence of cobwebs behind Hakua's headboard, and he scowled inwardly.

"Really now," Hakua said distractedly. She was staring intently at the frozen scene inside the pyramid, making sure that it was indeed the part where she'd been cut off. "You're never going to stop being a shameless-" she turned her head and stopped, looking with surprise at Keima who was now peering quizzically into the device. "Hey, don't you have your work to finish? Didn't you say that you needed to get back to your games? Why are you slacking off?"

"It is true, devil," Keima shrugged his shoulders. "Though at the moment, truthfully, I'm in a bit of a bind concerning one of my games. There's a terrible bug that I've been meaning to crack, and so far . . . " he gestured to his broom. "If you really don't want me learning more about the _brilliant, intelligent _devil who's too good for this lowly commoner, then say so." He turned away.

"Hold on," she stammered. "I-it's not like I don't want you seeing my genius, but then again, if you _are _that curious as a lowly human then I suppose I can show you." She touched her glasses in a show of stability. "A-anyway, just don't interfere with my report this time, so I can finish this report on time."

Hakua tapped her microphone and began, and to her surprise, this time, she found that she could articulate the words now. As she continued her verbal dictation, she sneaked glances at a cleaning Capturing God, who discretely watched the scenes unfold from the corner of his eye.

"Hold on," he interjected sometime later. She gave him a scathing glare as she continued to dictate. "It's a serious question. I noticed you," his own memory flashed in his mind, of an imposing sorceress throwing powerful magics at a beast. "-had used all those flashy light-thingies against the monster, and then afterwards," he glanced down at the clay Hakua, who had pulled out the jar-like thingy, just as it was dictated to. "-you used that contraption to suck it in. Is there something to that? Is it necessary to fling all those spells at it before you could . . . capture it?" Mentally, he was thinking of the scenarios he would have to plan later on, such as bringing the target to a secluded place to minimize the chances of that dangerous magic that could fell trees from hitting bystanders.

Hakua turned off the microphone irritably. "For your information, those 'light-thingies' were offensive cantrips, and I used them to shock the spirit enough to bring it to a capturable state. It's standard procedure," she huffed, as if it were the most basic knowledge. "Without those spells, the creature would have been too much for the containment bin to handle." She pushed up her glasses unconsciously, causing Kemia to quirk an eyebrow. "As a general rule, between denizens of Hell, it is the one with a higher rank who has the higher power, which in turn contributes to its power level. To follow then, a being of greater rank cannot be affected by magic from a demon who is of lesser rank. A containment bin's magic allows it to overcome and bind creatures of level 2 and below, and since it had been level 3 when it was released, I had no recourse but to bring out my offensive magics. That's the long and short of it. Any more questions, commoner?"

"Nope, you answered them just as I expected you to answer in your usual fashion, devil." _Though a simple, "I needed to weaken it" could have sufficed. _He breathed deeply as he stood to collect his cleaning materials. "Now, I'm done with your room, so I shall leave you to finish your report." He looked up at the ceiling and sighed at the stain that was still there. He then nodded ungratefully to Hakua, who just twitched an unamused eyebrow in response, before he exited out the doorway, brushing past the wooden and metal splinters.

All the talk of magic had Keima later on looking on his mother, who was doting unashamedly on Hakua the Islander Girl, with a certain suspicion. It probably was necessary to assume that she'd been addled by magic, possibly from Hakua herself, or from her own superiors. That could be the only explanation for her insistence that the Islander Girl spend the rest of her life in the Katsuragi household, despite the fact that Hakua'd arrived suspiciously.

"Now, now Hakua-chan, that's not the way you chop the vegetables~~"

Hakua looked helplessly at him, but he just smirked and lowered the Virtual PFP back over his eyes.

The magic didn't also account for his mother's indifference to things spontaneously blowing up around Hakua, such was the case for that night's supper. He now had two ceiling Keima outlines in the house, and until they'd be cleaned off, he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep well. _Curse that devil's malfunctioning incompetence!_

Though Hakua would have hit him for that thought.

"Ah, Non-chan, your voice is like heaven's breeze~~" Keima wheezed out as he tucked the PFP with overgrown reluctance into his pocket. He had a pleasant look on his face, owing much more to the virtual heroine that was firmly embedded in his mind than the bath he'd just been in. "If there was an angel that treaded on the virtual realm, it would be you . . . " Suitably refreshed, he headed out.

"K-K-Katsuragi-heir-"

"Uwah!" Keima jumped. He turned to face Hakua, who seemed to have been waiting for him to come out. She had that dumb, simplistic look on her face and she seemed to be holding-

"After-meal de-de-dessert-" she started hesitantly, before Keima easily cut in, "That's definitely not dessert! You don't call a chunk of ash dessert, she-devil!"

"Ah." Hakua looked around and behind her, Turning her head back, she now wore her grim, devilish expression as she shoved some of her dessert into the Capturing God's open mouth.

"D-don't force your failures on me!-" he spat it back out.

"Hey, listen," Hakua stopped him, a no-nonsense expression on her face. "I'll soon be leaving to submit my report, and afterwards, I'm going to have to go and see to my district. What that means, commoner, is that I won't be here for some time. Now I've already prepared my decoy drone to impersonate me, but you will have to ensure it doesn't get too much attention from your mother, or she will detect something's wrong." Seeing Katsuragi walk off without her knowing, she held out her hand and used her raiment to pull him back by the neck.

The God choked, grabbing at his neck, as he was forced to turn back. "I'm being serious here, commoner! Would it help if I told you too much stimuli can force the dummy to explode? I don't want to have to mention the magical effect it could have on your mother, and the house, not to mention the trauma involved . . . "

"To your Hell with those reasons!" Keima hissed. "I will be quite busy, Hakua, so don't expect me to drop all that just for you! I get enough distraction from my games when there's a capture going on!"

"Don't make me force a cantrip on you!-"

"You wouldn't dare-"

"A little obedience cantrip directed on your . . . skin should do the trick-"

"Argh! This is my last warning she-devil-"

Downstairs, Keima's mother heard a distant boom, much like how aircraft engines fired up. She paused in her dishwashing, wondering how that had gotten from her memory. Then she heard the sound of breaking glass, and something like many writing chalks being thrown at the wall. _Oh, those were the days._

"Hakua-chan~ I know it's important to let your skills be acknowledged, but don't let Keima demolish the house in the process, okay?~~"

OoOoOoOo

The magical lines connecting the travel hubs all across the realms of Hell criscrossed each other in various multicolored patterns, giving the upper skies something akin to a cheerful, bright lighting decoration, in spite of Hell's current energy conundrum. It was in marked contrast to the churning ruins of the realms below, or the broken skies above. Those appeared to be permanent fixtures, a reminder of the darkest days before.

The re-emerging rationality and technological knowledge of the demons had lent vision to the many towns, government hubs and pleasure centers of Hell. Supported by tame and purified magics, these structures dotted the skies of Hell, right on the levels just above the borderlines, far away yet somehow still near the ravaged lands below. Inside, protected by uncountable spells, the demons enjoyed freedom from the swirling, potent atmosphere that suffused Hell.

As always, Hakua Helmium had returned to Hell with all the speed and promptness that was expected of her. After receiving a note to meet Dokuru Skull in one of the Eastern observatories, she had made her way to the dark, cavernous debriefing chamber and there she'd received much praise for her second successful venture, although there was one who'd voiced concerns about the delay in the capture.

She then waited for her instant-porting sickness to fade, before embarking on one of the travel lines connecting Dokuru's office to their meeting place.

While Hakua watched the landscape of Hell flow unevenly below her, she shook her head to overcome another wave of dizziness. Owing to the energy constraints, the lines had been modified to leech off a bit of energy from the devil who used it, making it somewhat alike to the "taxes" the mortals had come up with. For most, it was an unsettling experience every time they used the travel lines. For the proud Hakua, it was a necessary evil for an important figure as her.

She passed by and waved to many of her fellow members and officers of the Runaway Spirit Squad, each looking harried as they travelled to the many exits to the mortal realm. Some of them made derisive looks at her, to which she shouted her best insult in Hellian. Hakua also passed certain demons who belonged to the Royal families, to whom she bowed formally.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Hakua emerged onto one of the Eastern observatories of Hell where Dokuru wanted to meet her. Observatories such as these were essentially like the public parks of the mortal world, but substituting the expanses of green and a view of water with a transparent dome up and below, for better viewing of the landscapes of Old Hell. In effect, observatories had become the gathering place for older, emaciated demons, whose twisted forms could still contemplate the horrors of Hellfire, or for fresh demon-students in academies here for their practical studies of Old Hell. Hakua passed a few of them on the metallic steps that led out to one of the viewing domes, where she'd spotted Dokuru waving cordially at her.

As she made her way up, she chanced a glance at the floor, where she saw, far, far below, a great portion of the landscape below torn up by renegade energies, forming a pyramidal formation of broken rocks and ruins. A miasma of energy swirled around and through them, forming volatile lines that all converged on one spot at the tip, a vortex of torrential energies, where it then formed a hazy beam of wavering energy that extended up and beyond even the height levels of the observatory. She followed the repulsive energies up where they reached the brooding skies above, and she frowned at the sudden flashes of light in the sky that only boded ill for the rest of Hell's inhabitants.

She stumbled on a step, but recovered gracefully, as the observatory shook around her. Hakua steadied herself on a nearby banister, and she almost smiled when she looked around to see her superior fallen to the ground in a comical manner, before frowning back down at the nexus of energies.

The she-devil remembered why this was one of the observatories she disliked: it was dangerously close to the Vora Rift, one of the magical disasters left behind from the war. Though she knew that the observatory had been put there for the express purpose of beholding one of the remnants in the aftermath of the Overthrow, it still didn't change the fact that those vigorous energies threatened and could one day destroy this observatory. Even as a devil, Hakua shivered at that.

"I greet you well, Hakua." She bowed respectfully in turn. "I apologize for calling you out all the way here, but as I had business here, and I had to give you a message at the same time, I had no choice. I hope I did not inconvenience you." Dokuru said apologetically.

"No sir, it's perfectly fine for me." she hastily assured her superior.

"Good. Well then, shall I ask you how your debriefing went?" Dokuru turned his gaze away from her to look out the balcony. They both watched threads of baleful light swirl outside as she recounted all her superiors had asked of her, and of Hakua's own views on the matter.

"Fascinating, isn't it?" he said after she concluded.

"Excuse me, sir?" She stared doubtfully at where Dokuru was looking.

"No, I was referring to the continued progress in your assigned project, District Chief Hakua." Dokuru chuckled, looking back at her. "You are in excellent form, and I'm sure many of us will be proud of the possibilities you will give our scientists and the rest of Hell itself."

"Ah, b-but- thank you sir- I mean-" the normally prim devil spluttered ungracefully, before coughing and continuing, an obvious redness in her cheeks. "I thank you for that, sir. I shall not fail."

"Indeed you shall not." Dokuru raised an invisible eyebrow. "Indeed you _must _not, as Lord Kai Sollarqeu said. I cannot stress the importance of this project enough, dear. As of this moment, there are only a few parallel projects with the same aim as yours, but yours has been the only method with the best results. Yes, you really are that lucky to have showed so much promise now." he laughed, causing Hakua to look down at her scythe in embarrassment. "You may just bring about a new age, as controversial as using love to acquire energy can be. There's not just one promotion for you, dear. You might just start your own Royal family at this rate!"

Hakua flinched while she blushed, knowing full well that the continued success and glowing praises would only continue should the commoner still be on his streak. If he failed, then she'd fall right there beside him, and she knew a few naysayers from the academy who'd love to target her then, not to mention the scorn and disappointment the rest of Hell might view her with as a result. Still, to realize that her own career path was dictated by the whims of one caustic, obsessive and sometime uncooperative mortal was almost unbelieveable.

"Ah, but there was something I called you all the way here for, right?" Dokuru scratched his skull, while she tilted her head doubtfully. "I have just received a message from a colleague of mine. Of course, it concerns you because he is none other than your old teacher, Lord Kiseth."

Hakua's eyes widened. _Sensei? _"Well, he normally contacts me, whenever he goes on his eccentric trips," she shared a look of exasperation with Dokuru, "but this time, he has specifically asked for you. Mostly, he is concerned about your progress, in his role as your old teacher; but he also seems to be cautioning you against standing out too much in the mortal realm."

She was blushing, reminiscing on her many storied memories with her old instructor, before she stirred at Dokuru's last statement. "What did Lord Kiseth mean by that?"

"Well obviously, he doesn't want his star student gaining the unwanted attention of Heaven." This elicited another blush from the she-devil. "It could also mean that he has reason to suspect something afoot, it could be that there are rogue elements of Hell running around in the mortal realm; and as you are becoming a promising member of the Runaway Squad, you may end up getting entangled with them."

Hakua tilted her head quizzically. Normally, she'd be giddy from hearing some word from her favorite and much idolized teacher, but Dokuru's words had set her thinking again. _Could Sensei have sensed something more thatn that?_

"Unfortunately," Dokuru seemed to have caught the next question that was forming in her mind. "Lord Kiseth has once again embarked on one of his expeditions, this time to the regions right below this spot. It seems that he wants to survey the old domains that belonged to . . . well, you know. Anyway, he will be obviously unreachable, so I will apologize to you on his behalf."

"N-no, I understand, sir. I know Lord Kiseth too well." she smiled thinly. Aside from being one of her principal instructors, responsible for much of her spell repertoire, Lord Kiseth had been a good mentor; but she'd also known him to be an archaelogical fanatic, keen on going on dangerous expeditions to the surface. Once, he had invited Hakua and her classmates to traverse the Titan Boneyards in the ash wastes, but the academy had caught wind and had stopped the potentially dangerous trip from happening. That was another thing she'd admired her teacher for, how he so nonchalantly but eagerly descended into the nether regions of Hell and would return, unscathed, but carrying some rich trophy of an artifact or updates on the situation of the lower surface. This earned him some repute in Hell. In fact, Hakua reflected, she did not know one devil who didn't like Lord Kismeth.

"I also echo his concerns, District Chief Hakua." Dokuru's words dragged her back to the present. "While any threat from Heaven might seem farfetched, there might also be some from Hell, maybe even their mortal agents, who might interfere with your work on the Runaway Spirits. Keep your wits about you, and keep the Vigilant Eye about." Dokuru then smiled, in the only way he could.

Just then, a beep from Dokuru's belt resounded in the normally subdued observatory space. It was followed by a beep from Hakua's skull ornament, and was echoed all around the chamber. Hakua looked around to see another Runaway Squad member, who was looking at her own beeping skull ornament in surprise.

"Well now, this is a surprise." Dokuru looked around, beckoning all the members of the Runaway Spirit Squad in the observatory to him. Hakua and the rest of the demons in there raised their eyebrows at the sudden and yet unknown development. "I bid you well, everyone," Dokuru greeted the other members, who each greeted him and Hakua with the same. "It seems that the Great Sensors have detected something of important magnitude. I shall need to get there immediately to know the cause. Since it might concern any one of your areas, I shall have to order you to include yourself in my spell."

There were nods all around as Dokuru looked up and around the gathered, after which he nodded, and began chanting the ancient, long-winded cantrip that carried with it the powerful ability of mass-teleportation. A set of runes were conjured all around thoe gathered members, after which a mist of white energy suffused their forms with a lukewarm feeling. Two identical magic circles, their identifying runes mirroring each other appeared with one below the feets and the other above the heads. There was a flash of white, and Hakua was again subject to the gut-wrenching torment of instant-porting.

"Whew, I haven't cast that big a spell since . . . " Dokuru wheezed behind them as Hakua adjusted her disoriented view of their new surroundings. A resounding beep called out from the machines in front of them as operator demons scrambled for the assembly that had just ported in.

"Section Chief Dokuru, sir! The sensors just detected something huge! Well, it's not huge, _technically-"_

"Don't confuse the chief!-"

"Sir! You have a message from the chairdevil! Lord DelMonte Domi is on the line-"

All around her came the sounds of more teleportations, some mass, and some single; while others stumbled in from the lines in a daze. Of course, an alert of such magnitude should have alerted all Runaway Spirit squad personnel that were still on Hell.

"Now, now, if you'd all just calm down-" Dokuru weaved his way through the mass of legs that had now gathered all around the communications room, and he reached the technicians after much difficulty. Hakua followed her superior imperceptibly.

"Here we are . . . ooh now this is a special case." Dokuru muttered just loud enough for some of those nearby to hear.

"What's going on? Is there a level 5 someone let loose?" Hakua glared at the impudent wretch who'd opened her mouth at such an important moment.

"Yes," a lot of devils sucked in their breath, "-and no." They all relaxed, with some now looking on doubtfully as their section chief chuckled. "Quite an interesting case for our scientists, if we showed it to them.

"Everyone!" Dokuru said in a loud, commanding voice, a sharp contrast to his diminutive form. He stood on a platform that floated lazily above them all. Uncharecteristically, Hakua shivered without knowing the reason. "According to the data gathered from the Great Sensors, there appears to be a new, and unique Runaway Spirit that has emerged. It is not so powerful as to require our specialists," he nodded to a few of them in the crowd. "but as always it is not something for us to ignore. You see, according to this, it looks like even in its subdued state, it is still able to send out powerful, mind-affecting energies through its host to the rest of the human populace. The stream of negative energy has caused our Sensors to detect the anomaly beforehand, and it has lead us to this particular situation.

"Now, as you all know, a Spirit who has the ability to do just this even at its own level is something quite troubling and dangerous. That is why it might just be a Level 5 after all; we cannot tell quite yet. Thus I shall commission a few of you to act as backup here in Hell in case such a thing does occur." Dokuru's eyes glinted with a reprimanding fire. "A level five is leagues above any spirit you have encountered before. Do not trifle with it."

They all nodded, each knowing the magnitude of such a claim. Many years of specialist training for most of them in the academy had taught them much Runaway Spirit lore, and a level five (if the spirit in question was) was said to be equal to that of a Greater Demon of legend. Hakua clenched her fist in determination, in the slim chance that it was under her district, she would spare no expense in helping out the others as they would wrestle the Spirit down.

"Sir, the techs have triangulated the source of the anomaly!" A demon called out from behind his terminal screen. More than a few devils looked up in apprehension at the gigantic screen behind Dokuru. A map of the human world in 3D was displayed, and digital arrows were steadily pointing at the exact spot. Hakua's eyes widened. They all seemed to be located in the Far Eastern sector.

"That's good . . . now narrow it down some more . . . " Dokuru stole a glance at Hakua and the gathered multitudes.

"There, sir! We've confirmed with all the other Sensors! It's definitely around that area!"

"Very well, now to dispatch the devil in charge of it . . . the district chief is," Dokuru looked down swiftly at Hakua, who had opened her mouth in shock. "Hakua, this seems to be yours. It's in the vicinity of Majima." All eyes followed Dokuru's gaze to gather at the thunderstruck devil, who had now let her scythe fall to the ground in a clatter.

"Hakua, this is another chance for you," Dokuru called out. "Please confirm the identity of the host."

"Y-yes," Hakua breathed in, picking up her weapon. "I shall be going then, I bid you all well." Trembling faintly, Hakua kept her gaze before her as she hastily began her own instant-teleportation spell. The others stepped back to give her some space.

"I bid you well, Hakua. _Do not fail Hell. _" Dokuru commanded gently. A nod, then a white flash, a sound of grinding static, and the District Chief was then gone from their midst. Dokuru looked around at the remaining multitude. "You all have your jobs to do, too. I bid you all well."

OoOoOoOo

"See ya later, Keima-kun," Keima bobbed his head in delight as he watched his dear Yokkyun leave. Cartoon Keima then jumped up, making a fist in the air, while laughing goofily.

Keima jumped around, doing cartwheels that would have been normally impossible for one such as he. Yet jump around he did, even scaling his promised tree with Yokkyun several times in love-struck glee. "Gyahahaha!"

On his seventh climbing attempt, he felt the earth shift below him, and he fell, unsupported. He gave a squawk, looking at his hands that had returned to normal.

"Ah, another dream!" _Damn it, why did it have to end too soon! _Keima grouched.

Once again, the mists drew around him, obscuring his view, except for the single, crooked tower that loomed before him. He instinctively disliked the shrouded edifice, though he did not know why.

"I greet you well, mortal."

Well, maybe it was that, Keima supposed, as he turned to face the voice. The figure was far away, as shrouded as the tower was, yet he could hear its voice quite clearly as if it was just near him.

"Um, hello there dreaded dream killjoy. Why can I never have a dream without being sent to this foggy place?"

"As to that, even I have no idea." He could swear the figure was tilting its head. "Perhaps it has something to do with your inner desires?"

"What do my inner desires have to do with anything?"

"Why, dear boy! They form part and parcel of what _you _are! No mortal can ever deny this part that belongs rightfully to them! Without one's desires, you are nothing. In fact, your whole life has been about fulfilling your own-"

"You're going off the tangent here."

"You're right. I get that sometimes, I don't even-" the figure _giggled. _He still didn't know whether to be charmed if it was a girl, or creeped out if it was a guy. It was allb so ambiguous. "Well, you may _trust_ me to tell you, Mortal, that I have no more idea of what I'm doing here meeting you than you do. But this place is filthy, can't you see it?"

Keima looked around. "With all this fog, I'm not sure if I can agree to that statement. If it is filthy, as you said, I agree that something should be done, but again, I don't see anything but the fog in front of my eyes."

"A shame. I would have greatly enjoyed it if- wait, you seem to have a visitor, mortal. Your dream is, sadly, ending. I dwell on the chance that I can meet you again." The figure faded. Keima stared doubtfully at the spot, before turning his eyes to the desolate structure in the distance.

Like a lighthouse, a light emerged from the top, and as it swept around, Keima caught the bare image of a gleeful smile, before the light assaulted his sense, and he felt himself being slapped, unceremoniously, awake.

_Whack! Whack! Whack!_

"Commoner! Wake up, you lazy bum!"

* * *

Vivian's note: in fact just go ahead and review


	11. Interlude IV: His Divine Gaze I

Keima Katsuragi, Capturing God, sat in a potent after-sleep haze as he watched the steam rise from the mug of tea. He had prepared the tea hastily for himself when a certain she-devil had so rudely awakened him, and he'd dragged his groggy steps downstairs (taking care to tiptoe around his mother's room), and back up with a tray of wake-me-ups.

Why was this the case, when Keima'd known himself to be a self-centered God who only acted nice for his mother or people who had his very life at the palm of their hands? It was mostly the latter, Keima supposed, for Hakua had, so unusually for her, activated the collar on Keima's neck when he'd cried foul for her intruesion, and the pain was thus sufficient to get him moving. He might have protested this cruel, Hellish treatment, but then he'd still been disoriented from the dream that he saw no impetus to do so.

The high-strung tension that had engulfed Hakua, however, had now seemingly dissipated, and Keima found it appropriate to shift the balance back into his favor. So thinking, he opened his mouth and asked, "Now remind me again, why did you decide to disturb a god's sleep in the middle of the night, Hakua? I thought your kind was civilized, _rational _as you've claimed before. Now I am forced to add this event to the 'hatred' bar that this one Keima Katsuragi has for you and your kind. Speak quickly!"

"In a moment, deluded commoner," Hakua held up a hand as she pressed her other to the skull ornament perched on her purple-haired head. "Beings of greater power than you are conversing, and it would do you good to not insult the person who can decimate your existence a thousand times over."

Keima snorted as he took a tentative sip of the tea. _Too sweet. _"In my experience, your so-called magics has done nothing but destroy everything _around _me, devil. What kind of useful magic is that, huh?"

"Sshh! Katsuragi, I'm receiving important information here!"

"Well then, would it be so hard to conduct your mission briefing . . . somewhere else? In my current form, this human shell still needs to sleep, even though my spirit knows and agonizes over the routes I've yet to complete . . . "

Hakua shot the Capturing God a murderous look, to which Keima started in a surprised manner; before she waved her arms around and a familiar red dome wove itself into existence and enclosed her.

Keima sat gaping at the devil's actions. Realizing it would be pointless to go back to sleep without being rudely awoken a second time, he instead turned to his desktop computer terminal and turned it on. His eyes swept wistfully at the various, cloth-covered and unused game machines that sat patiently on the floor before the multitude of screens, and then he readied his hands over the keyboard and typed.

His mind, woken up by a brash she-devil and powered up by bitter-tasting tea, now raced with the possibilities that this event brought. In his infinite wisdom, the Capturing God thought only in game terms, and thus did he view this unwarranted intrusion and uncharecterisitc behavior of the she-devil's.

Keima started typing furiously, while his thoughts dictated the content. It was simple, a scenaro like this, involving a supernatural being who has forced circumstances on the protagonist, there can only be a few guesses as to the girl's intent, considering the context, it has something to do with runaway spirits, but looking back on her previous behavior, it must have probably been a high profile event to have made her this way, perhaps an emergency . . .

The Capturing God's glasses flashed against the lights as he watched the catalogues of completed games flash across his screen. He clicked on "Genre: Supernatural".

Many names scrolled past his eyes, and he regarded each with a critical, objective eye. Consider the flags, although she is not a route (no Real girl is), there are constants to be considered, presupposing that the runaway spirit event is of some magnitude, perhaps a powerful spirit, what could have sparked this emergency-like atmosphere, branch one: superpowered spirit appearing in her area, so she is concerned with my capability, but I have nothing to contribute in that case, I only capture, branch two: the target is a high-profile person, and it is likely that some high-level magics of hers need to be done to fool reality, yet to reach this point, it must be something that more than a few people would notice . . .

"_Onii~ You are the demons . . . " _Keima frowned at a few typographical errors on the page. Many branches, many possibilites leading to thrice as many routes, and at the end . . . Consider, then, sub-branch two: should it be someone like a politician's or famous man's daughter, or some other of similar circumstances, what should I do, to narrow down, Aoyama Mio-like backgrounds are tricky, but if it is that high-profile, a misstep would spell disaster and might lead, as the devil must have assumed, to exposure . . .

Whatever the route opens up here, Keima, will you do everything in your power to help the she-devil, no matter what troublesome things come about? He steepled his fingers before him, leaning his elbows on table. _The troublesome Real. Unpredictable, capricious, unreliable . . . _

"I say we do not!" A long-haired, muscular Keima appeared, challenging the multitude that were arrayed in front of him. "We cannot let the Real that intrudes so harshly into our lives interfere with us any longer. If it truly becomes important to avoid exposure, then we must make the devil see our point!" Long-haired Keima flexed his very visible biceps and frowned. A few of the assembled Keimas nodded amongst themselves, seeing the wisdom apparent.

"Objection!" A Keima in the crowd shouted. He was just as muscular as the speaker Keima, and wore a beret on his head that he patted down as he spoke. "Our lives are infinitely more important than anything. We cannot capture anymore virtual girls if we end up getting decapitated! Pride means nothing in the face of oblivion!"

"What would you suggest then, fool?" The first Keima pointed an accusing finger at the second. "That we willingly submit ourselves to this fallacy? There are always ways to be free of tyrannies, Keima! Ensign Keima!" he shouted at a Keima in a cybernetic suit. "Show this man his folly with your projected data!"

"Ack, s-so pleathed thoo acquiethe yer requeth yer majethty . . ." The called Keima pulled out a gigantic screen out of nowhere. "Ath you all can thee genthlemen, the many methods we can uthe to beg off thith duthy are then-thouthand fold . . ." There was a general muttering among the assembly. "And abouth a thouthand can be counthed ath complethely thafe . . . cathe in pointh, if we were thoo thuggeth thath there ith a fourtheen pointh four nine nine chanth of thucceth (repeathing of courthe), then they devil will have no choith but to pathth it on!"

"And recent data suggests that the prideful demon will never be accepting anything less than 100%!" a Keima shouted from the back. There was a great cheer that arose from this. The long-haired Keima nodded in approval. "You see," he said triumphantly to the dissenting Keima. "The power of human logic and reason trumps any supernatural factor in the Real route. There are some times where we do not bend, when we shall not compromise our principles is that not right my comrades!" He pumped his fist in the air, and a lot of Keimas hooraed in response.

"Are all you gathered here blind? You cannot simply turn your eyes away from the unknown supernatural beings we have somehow entangeld ourselves here!" The dissenter walked towards the first, his eyes scanning the rest of the Keima's. "This is not some route in a magical-themed game where we, as the Third Eye, can just sit back and let events take their _routeful _course! This is the hated Real! The same circumstances which has forced us to give up fireman-volunteer duty and cleaning-and-playing-at-the-same-time have now set before us another obstacle, and this time the obstacle is an unknown factor, a volatile factor. Who ever knew that magic would really exist, in the form of troublesome beings like that devil? This has added a whole new factor to our dealings with the Real, and I tell you gentlemen," this Keima took a deep breath, accentuating the bulges of muscles underneath his clothes, "we cannot take it lightly."

There was a general chorus of shouts, booes and cheers as two dissenting sides emerged among the Keimas. Each shouted against the other, each taking different forms, different costumes. Within the center of it all stood those two, who only stared at each other with cold, adversarial eyes.

"You fools!" A gravelly voice boomed out, silencing the bickering multitude. Everyone froze and all eyes turned to see the source. An elderly Keima, his wrinkled face belying his age, his white beard reaching down to his knees sat perched on a rock, holding a great, wooden staff with him. Presently, after making sure he was at the center of attention, he stood, walking sagely to where the two were.

"Have you all forgotten your purpose, Keima?" he demanded of them all. "That dread claim that, that _thing _held on us, forcing us to do its will? We bent then, for we all knew at some point that it was the only way to survive." He glared at the first. "And have all of you forgotten our pride as the Capturing God?" He now looked at the other half of the dissenters. "To be prideful is to gain a measure of courage, even for a while. And the Capturing God will never willingly bow to anything of the Real.

"We are struggling with a foolish junction. Just weeks ago, you were all agreed to help out Ms. Helmium in our capacity as the Capturing God! You youngsters, you will never learn to discard your foolish beliefs as you face the present; always wanting to force others to see your point. Useless! This meeting, is adjourned!" He slammed his staff on the ground. "Go back to your domains. There is no real argument here." With that, the elder Keima disappeared in a cloud of dust.

A ringing silence followed, as each Keima stared at the other. Some shrugged, and disappeared, yet there were many who remained, still glaring daggers at the other. It was the first speaker who broke the silence. "I agree with the old man. It is useless to exchange words with fools. I will silence your dissent, with my own power." With that, he flexed his arms, and everything slowed down . . . and stilled.

"_I control the button and the mouse. Time is stilled by my hand, for I am God. _And here, I control time." With that, he snapped his fingers, and every Keima who hadn't disappeared yet poofed out of existence. He chuckled smugly to himself, before he was interrupted by a voice behind him.

"Since when were you under the impression," the dissenter smiled grimly, "that you were the only one who could control time? We are all Gods in our domains." With that he punched the first full on the face.

The first recovered, licking his lips in anticipation. "Fool! I have achieved greater mastery than you! Watch!" He stilled time again, and this time, the other Keima was frozen. He walked over, clucking his tongue. "To think you were brazen enough to challenge me." He prepared to smash his hand into the other's chest. He stopped, shocked, when the other stopped his attack with ease. "I told you to lose your illusion."

The first was blown away, and this time he was visibly angry. "How is this possible! It is I who have mastered this art more than anyone! It is I who have watched scenes blur and stop before my eyes! I am the God! I am-"

A force of will emanated from each, and they clashed against each other like hated enemies. The second one spoke, "You talk too much."

"And _you _shall fall! Uselesss!"

"Oraaaaaahhhhh!"

They lashed out, fists first, as a bright light engulfed everything and-

"You useless commoner! How dare you fall asleep!"

**Whack!**

OoOoOoOo

_Me? Take on that task? Impossible!_

For once, his inner Keimas agreed.

He peered out across the horizon, down at Majima High sprawled below him, with their bustling students in shades of red. Thankfully, the rooftop had been deserted, allowing Keima the perfect place to reflect and get away from that domineering devil with a route in one hand and a determined fist in the other..

There were many rules in captures (in his games). Some were objective rules that was the norm everywhere for gamers such as he. The others were the few subjective preferences he reserved for himself.

Objective rules included: that the first, obvious girl who catches your attention would always be the first capture before the new game, that it is necessary to save before every choice (though Keima thought it ideal to have only as few, _efficient _saves as possible), that one should never skip the closing credits – among others. Keima understood all that, in his capacity as the Capturing God.

And there were some other rules that the God thought up for himself. Some of these were about giving his dear Yokkyun a replaying of her route every week, or that characters with traits like "cleaning-inept" were prioritized last, or that the smuttier scenes, when they came, would be skipped without mercy (owing to their negligible purpose in the overall story). One of these, of course, was that

-_I have no patience for idols!-_

True, there had been games where a singing idol had been introduced as one of the capturable girls, so Keima had to try his very best not to vomit when capturing them. And there had been games where "idoling" had been the main focus. A number of them were, shamefully, still in his backlog.

Why did he hate the character of these starlets? Keima had already given some of his reasons last night to the she-devil, when she'd informed him to his utter horror that the next capture target was the popular idol, Nakagawa Kanon.

Even thinking about that name sent his back shivering. Nakagawa was the prime example of what was inherently wrong with the idol industry. A rising star that came out of left-field, purely because of some charm within her that made her appealing, even if _she had no redeeming qualities as a girl on her own! Yet the dupeable masses still loved her, lapping everything she put out, oh that disgusts me so much . . . _That had been the problem with the idol girls he had been forced to capture before (in his games). So shallow in depth, so brittle the mask!

He heard a noise of cutting wind behind him, and the familiar burning of his amulet announced the arrival of his fated devil. Keima glanced morosely behind him at Hakua, who stared at him with a set expression on her face. He sighed, before saving his game in reluctance.

"The answer is still no, she-devil." His tormentor quirked an eyebrow in response. "No amount of begging, cajoling, or outright threats to my worldy and otherworldy existence can make me reithink almost two decades of principles. This isn't just about me refusing as Keima; you're looking at the whole essence of the Capturing God rejecting the very idea of having to woo over a, a real life idol!"

"Not even when I say that the whole world _might _rest on your shoulders?" Hakua challenged.

"No, I know it can never come to that. You devils will think of something. Besides, shouldn't you just give her an illusion of . . . oh, I don't know, more fame, power, riches, more fans to glorify her name than to use me as the catalyst?"

"We can certainly try other avenuse, but then it would result in a failure on both our parts to fulfill our contract, ending in our mutually bound souls being grinded to oblivion somewhere down in Hell." she pointed out.

"Ah, it always comes back to the contract . . . " Keima wrung his hands. "And you mentioned _your _soul being part of the deal. I sincerely doubt those contracts of yours would really end in Hell's disposal of one of their most _skilled _members . . . "

"Commoner," Hakua breathed, articulating her next words as if speaking to a chilld. "Contracts with Hell are not matters you can just shrug off! Hasn't it been drilled into your brain somewhere about how certain devil personas made deals with humans, and somehow it always ends up with the human's defeat and subsequent obliteration? I mean, it's not as if I care about your human soul a whit, but _I _care about my existence, and I don't want it to end so abruptly because some damned stubborn mortal didn't want to face his fears and own up. Contracts in Hell are particularly taxing on the devil's side, I wonder how many mortals know about that . . . "

"'Face his fears'?" Keima repeated incredulously. "What, you think I have some sort of complex with idols, devil?"

"You must have! It's the only reason why you'd accept the other two missions, but not this! In our _Human Behavior _classes, I remember how it is so easy for humans to be affected by good or adverse events in their past, so I can only assume that you either had some issues with the so-called 'idols' that you don't want to face, or some other bizarre explanation that sheds light on your apparent hatred with those types of mortals."

"Naive of you to think that humans can be so simplistic as that . . . " Keima seethed. "Well, let me set your records straight devil. I have never been wronged by an idol, I have never even crossed paths with an idol, never in my past have I ever encountered any 'idol'-like being, and I have also not been affected indirectly by any idol-related actions. So no, devil, nothing had induced me explicitly to hate idols . . . "

"Well we come back to the start of this annoyingly cyclical problem. What _do _you hate about idols?"

"My reasons devil, are they still not enough?"

The two of them took a deep breath, putting the conversation on hold for a few seconds. Hakua absentmindedly fingered her raiment between her hands, and Keima watched the strands loop of their own accord around the devil's smooth skin.

"If not for the idol herself," Hakua restarted the argument. "then at least do it for the mortals who are currently being affected by the Runaway Spirit inside her." Keima watched her nod to herself as if reaching some conclusion in her mind, before another one of her magical screens appeared out of nowhere to display some strange dancing symbols. "This particular spirit is unique. It has the capability of unleashing some of its powers while it is still in its dormant state, allowing it to convert its own energy to power its latent magics.

"We- well, my superiors have determined that this has led to the host being made into a transmitting node for the spirit inside, sending out passive magical waves of energy that affect any who are in close proximity." Hakua took the chance to clear her throat.

"And this affected them, how?"

"For this particular case, the powers of mind manipulation manifested themselves, causing any who were within distance to have a variable reaction to the host."

"Variable reaction?" The gears started churning.

"For devils, hoodwinking humans isn't that hard to accomplish." Keima quirked an eyebrow, but quickly let it go. "The human's own weaknesses can be used against them, facilitating quick manipulation. In some cases, however, it might be necessary to manipulate several humans at once, so charming spells are used to directly influence the mortal's thought processes – resulting in an intense devotion and attraction. In this case, many humans who were affected have been ensnared and started to exhibit unnatural devotional behavior to this, Kanon."

"Wait wait, so you're telling me that the spirit's the reason she's an idol or something?" The gears sped up. Keima went through a five-second stage of smirking, then outright grinning, then a full-blown chuckle. "I see! I see! I was right! They truly do not have their own charms! So it is all explained! All idols have runaway spirits inside them! What a breakthrough! It's too bad I won't be able to reveal this, eh Hakua?" He winked at Hakua, who stood dumbfounded.

"Um . . . it doesn't necessarily follow that all humans similar to her also have spirits-"

"Yes! I shall capture it, Hakua!"

"Eh?"

"I have here before me an ultimate breakthrough! A chance to finally prove that real idols are truly the fake, manipulative figures they are! That their fans are really only mind-controlled slaves of a manipulative facade! But now, now they shall finally fall! And you, Nakagawa Kanon, shall be the first to fall! Cast down their images, behold your True God!" With a maniacal glint in his eyes, Keima sped away, slamming through the roof door and giggling all the while.

OoOoOoOo

Though he'd said yes, he still had no idea how to approach this problem. Keima sat on the stairwell leading to the rooftop, using a route to set his inner Keimas to rest (the ones who protested). The roof was currently . . . occupied.

"Bunch of starved rabbits, the lot of them . . . "

He stood, determinedly keeping his eyes on the screen as he let his feet carry him somewhere else.

First off, he would have to gather information about the idol, Nakagawa. Hating a person didn't always make one know everything about him or her, as Keima discovered to his horror. While it was true that he could consult Hakua, the she-devil would doubtless offer something that only a distant observer could accomplish.

No, he looked for juicy tidbits, glimpses of Kanon's personality through other eyes, and other relevant information, meticulously compiled by the charmed underlings who called themselves fans. And he would find that in their publications they called their magazines – though he did not want to have to actually spend money to get it.

No, there was always their very own library.

Keima glanced around at the nearly empty room. Rows and shelves filled with books were lined up all around him, creating a mazework of published work that, to any other person, would amaze them at the wealth of information that could be had. To Keima, it was somewhat of a waste of space; hadn't the school wised up to the electronic age already?

He walked briskly between the student tables, studiously ignoring the stares he was getting for his footsteps echoing on the polished wooden floor. He entered the maze, though he did not know what he was looking for.

_Of all the times to need that virtual catalogue . . . _Keima thought grimly to himself. He remembered some months ago, when he was looking up a book for a request, he had been looking for a quick easy search through an electronic catalogue; before he was informed that there was no such thing, just the classic. He had fumed then, and expressed his view in such a manner.

He walked amidst the various smells, remembering one particular librarian standing up and glaring at him with peculiar intensity, as if her gaze would burn him down where he stood. Well, he'd certainly stood his ground, though that reinforced his view of the other's eccentricity, as she hadn't said anything at all and had left shortly thereafter.

_A silent girl, well it certainly fit the librarian type . . . _The kind you would find spending every breaktime in the library, poring over one new book after another. They were generally easy captures, and sometimes included some obscure reference to a contemporary piece of literature to make it titillating. Keima just found it informative.

And that girl . . . was now glaring at him presently. Keima started, and looked with surprise at the girl who made the same burning, resentful eyes at him from behind a gap of books on the other side of the shelf. He tilted his head quizzically, and looked behind him, thinking it might not be him, and it truly wasn't. His eyes narrowed in disgust as he shook his head and continued on his way through the mazework.

He'd forgotten to mention to the she-devil that the library was another popular hangout, almost as good as the rooftop because of the many ways two could hide themselves behind tall shelves and rows of books. _This school! What a rut-house!_

Keima settled himself on a particular row, where the publications were gathered. It took some time for him to extract what he needed.

He emerged some time later, head filled with useless information, but again taken aback upon seeing the girl still standing between the shelves, glaring intensely at that scene. It was as if she hadn't moved at all since he had left her. Keima recalled the vulgar adage, "It's always the quiet ones." He rolled his eyes and pulled out his ever-handy PFP. Coincidentally, it was the route of the librarian- er . . . "loremaster". (He was clearing his fantasy backlog)

"You know it's no use being so hung-up over it." Keima whispered, sidling close.

The librarian girl exploded in so silent a manner, making him turn his head and _look _ at the way steam seemed to be coming out her ears, and of the angry red that now sufficiently suffused her puffed-out cheeks, yet with naught a sound but that akin to a pent-up kettlepot. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to speak, yet she continued to be frozen in that heated expression - this time directed at him – and her arms started doing windmills.

He turned back to his game. Coincidentally, it was one of those H scenes too – in the library, no less. "You already know this school has _that _problem, as a librarian you should just be . . . quiet about it. _They_ certainly are trying to be."

He heard a ringing sound in his ears after he said that, so loud was the silence that followed. He kept his eyes on the screen, but consciously aware of the girl doing something next to him, without making a single sound.

"_It's . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . _library . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . "

Keima snorted, and chuckled silently. He shook his head, turning to the girl, who now glared at him for brushing her off. "Well, if you're that bothered by it, why don't you go on ahead and say something to those two? Just standing there glaring makes you like on of those voyeurs . . . though that might just be good – for both parties" he added the last part silently to himself.

". . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . "

The Capturing God made one last look at the still-quiet librarian, before shrugging his shoulders and whispering, "Okay. Good day to you."

Putting his PFP back into his pocket, Keima left the library, his mind brewing strategems against the false idols. He whistled a catching tune from one of his favorite Yokkyun spin-offs. _How did it go? Papara~ papapaparapaparapaparapa~ _

A minute later, he met the she-devil, who panted as if she'd just run the marathon. A moment later, she pointed to her beeping skull ornament, and again at the general direction behind him.

Keima turned creaking head towards his back like a wooden doll as he stared off in the direction of the place he'd just left. His jaw had never dropped so low before.

"But th-that's . . . forbidden!"


	12. Interlude V: Her Purple View I

Hakua de Rotto Helmium, Runaway Spirit Squad Member and District Chief of Majima, tore through the thaumaturgical walls separating Hell and the mortal realm with a fervent outburst of spellwork. Mid-flight, she was already preparing the teleportation spell that would take her directly into the commoner's room.

_I'm glad there are just as many exits as entrances. . . I hope that commoner's cooperative!_

Balefully she watched the kaleidoscopic imges of potent magicks fly past her vision, before she was again engulfed within the suffusive glare of the instant-port.

Inside her buddy's room, as the commoner remained asleep, a magic circle came into existence, burning a bright, impatient purple, before flashing and disgorging the devil – outside the front door of the Cafe Grandpa.

_This was not the time for weird backfires! _She fumed, as she flew straight up and phased through the commoner's windows. Hakua loomed over the commoner, who slept blissfully unaware inside the covers, before her hands and eyes flashed red.

"Hakua, are you there? This is Section Chief Dokuru."

Hakua froze, before putting her hand to her skull ornament. She was just about to brief the commoner on the new target. She saw the commoner narrow his eyes in annoyance as she turned away. "Y-yes! This is District Chief Hakua, what is it sir?"

The distance between realms was not so easily reached, as was obvious, so even tiny communication signals from one to the other took some time – without the help of Hell-magic. In Hakua's current connection, there was a hiss of static from the other end.

The buddy started to say some infuriating words, so she shot him the best of her killing intent, before drawing her raiment around her in a protective bubble. Pressing a finger to the inside surface, a magical screen materialized. Static formed briefly, before it showed, through a magical pink haze the face of her superior.

"A privacy bubble? Why have you activated that, Hakua? Is everything alright up there?" Dokuru asked with some concern.

"Well, I figured there was something you wanted to say that wasn't fit for mortal ears to hear, sir." she mumbled in response.

"Ah! Good point." He nodded sagely. "Good thinking on your end, Hakua. This may somewhat falling under that category." Dokuru cleared his throat. "I've already assigned several teams to be on stand-by down here, as mandated by protocol, to assist you when the runaway spirit is finally released.

"Now, this does not mean I have no faith in your talents, Chief Hakua," Dokuru said in an attempt to head off Hakua's ill will. "As I have said in the initial briefing, a Level 5 spirit is more than your usual 2s or 3s you may have encountered or studied before. It can destroy you, even in it post-release state."

"I understand sir. I have no objections to the backup," Hakua said as a matter-of-factly. It was foolish to think she could face off against even a weakened Level 5 by herself. That was a point that had been drilled into her by her instructors: _There will always be beings greater than you. _It would not hurt any of Hakua's pride if she were able to capture it with the assistance of other members.

Rather, it would hurt if her buddy failed to force its release, or if somehow, he would refuse.

"I have attached several pages of lore on level 5s as a refresher course." Dokuru continued. "As well as your permit to cast higher level magics for yourself. You'll never know if you'll need it when you at last confront a spirit of that magnitude."

"Thank you sir. I shall not fail."

"We shall keep you updated if something comes up. I bid you well." The screen fizzed out. Hakua let out a breath she'd been holding in all this time, and dissolved the red dome around her.

OoOoOoOo

"No."

"-and of course, the preliminary scouting will have to wait until tomor- wait, what?" Hakua stopped pacing when she heard the commoner's response.

"I said no. I'm not going to capture Nakagawa Kanon." She stared, thunderstruck, at his stubborn-set face as he made his declaration.

Hakua very nearly sputtered on her words, luckily she was a devil who easily recovered, "E-excuse me? I'm not sure I heard you right, commoner. I know you know that you can't afford to _refuse? "_

"I opt to refuse now. I refuse." He responded flatly, his normally expressive mouth set in a thin line.

She ran an impatient hand through her royal-tinged hair, partly in frustration, and partly with that unknown desire that wanted her to strangle the commoner for the words she did _not _want to hear come from him. "And what is the meaning of this refusal?" Hell, she'd become tired all of a sudden. "You're an intelligent being, so of course you know about the contract. Logically, you should be following it, come what comes."

"And I'm refusing this mission. Ask your superiors to pass it on."

She struggled to rein in the hellfire that was gathering on her fingers. _Of all the times to be stubborn, it'd have to be the day after I get the commendations from their Eminences! _She instead opted on tightening her grip around the handle of her scythe. That did not stop the crackling sounds from coming. Keeping her glare averted, she inquired, somewhat sweetly, "And might I inquire as to the reson for your dismissal of this mission? A foolish one will ensure that one more mortal will die this very minute."

"No threats, please, Hakua. So barbaric of you. If you must know, there's just something about idols that sets me off." He flicked his wrists as if swatting an imaginary fly out of his ear. "Whether it's because of their fake, manufactured smiles, their artificial charisma that exudes but never fails to ensnare credulous, froth-mouthed idiots who don't know a true girl's beauty if it struck them in the face, or whether it's because I know deep down, they're just shallow, pretentious masterminds who are in it for the uncountable fame, riches or what-have-you that they must desire.

"Nakagawa Kanon is the pinnacle of idolatries." She saw hidden fires suddenly erupt in the commoner's eyes, and she knew now that he was off on some imaginary manic monologue. "A slave to power, she has emerged onto the public scene, an upstart among upstarts, capturing the hearts (not in that way, though) of many, ensnaring them in the false charms of an idol. It sickens me to my exalted core. Don't be fooled by her sugary-sweet appearance! A flytrap's mouth is just as sugary! Don't be drawn in by her body! You will fall just as low as Adam! Don't be captivated by her charms! She is the devil manifested!" Repeating this mantra to himself, the commoner crawled into himself. Interspersed into his declarations were the whispers, "Yokkyun, Yokkyun, Yokkyun." Hakua watched this all with incredulous, fuming eyes.

"Disregarding your feverish comments, let's move on to the details. I-"

"She-devil!" Keima cried, pointing an accusatory finger at her "You have heard my reasons, and whether or not that hell-fried brain of yours comprehended all that, you must know! There will be no capturing Nakagawa Kanon with love! I would sooner jump off a high place than find myself getting to know, wooing and eventually-" he choked, making gagging sounds. "K-k-k-kissing Nakagawa Kanon! I won't have it!"

"You. Have. No. Choice. You impossible mortal!" Hakua shouted, not wishing to let her fear and frustration show in her voice. "You WILL be capturing the target's heart whether you want it or not! And if you will still continue in this vein, I'll break your limbs, one by one!"

"Good! Break them now, so you can go off and 'capture' Kanon! I don't care!"

That was one of the few times she had attempted to summon a live Mandrake right in the middle of a small room. A good thing it had backfired, again.

OoOoOoOo

Like a daytime wraith, Hakya flitted over the rooftops of Majima City, looking about with her weapon of office held close. Occasionally she would stop on a rooftop, kneel down, before shaking her head and taking off again, invisible to mortal eyes.

She had spent the greater part of the morning erecting passive magic circles all around Majima, her permit from the Section Chief giving her much more leeway in preparing wards and spells all around her district. The wards she had placed would ensure that a steady stream of negative energy would be filtering into the city, just enough to provide her with a sufficient amount of power should she need it.

As to her research on the target, no matter what the commoner had said, she went on ahead anyway and summoned Inquisitive Imps to help her gain a bit of knowledge about the famous target. Flicking her permit onto the ground, she brought in another batch of squat, black, long-eared critters.

"Ah, mistress, you have summoned enough to fill an army . . . "

"Silence." Hakua chided the imps. With the other tip of her scythe she traced the control runes onto the back of each creature firmly. "You will follow the instructions I have given the rest of your brood. Keep to the shadows, and do NOT eat more energy than is allowed for you."

"It shall be as the young mistress wants, even if she could have done it herself. . . ."

She stamped her weapon of office on the ground, hard enough to emit threatening hellsparks. "Do not play trifles with me, imp. Get to your duties." With a pop, the trio disappeared, leaving Hakua alone in the secluded alley.

She took a big breath as she consulted her raiment monitor again. When dealing with lesser demons like those, sometimes a little force was necessary to ensure dominance. Demons traditionally thrived on power, and would only bow to those greater than themselves. _Two more sites to add in. _Hefting her scythe on her shoulders, she shot up and cleared several stories as she hurried off to secure the rest of Majima.

While she secured the last passive circle, she was alerted to another transmission from Hell. Pausing to make sure she was unobserved, she threw the privacy circle around her again as she received the message.

"Yes, sir?"

"Oh, there's no need to call me, 'sir', _Member _Hakua, though you can call me 'mistress'."

_That voice! _Hakua frowned, a million insults surfacing in her mind as the image before her cleared up to show her sometime, stuck up and mammoth-breasted nemesis – Nora Florian Leoria. "Nora!"

"Long time no see, little Hakua," the tan-skinned devil leered from across the realms, putting great emphasis on "little". Hakua bristled. "I almost missed you, before I realized I'd be seeing a lot more of you in the years to come."

"Nora," she spat, "How did you get my signal? For that matter, I have no time to deal with your idiocies, you old hag!"

It was Nora's turn to look angry, but then she chuckled, brushing it off. "It was the Section Chief who assigned us, you know, to help you in your current mission."

"Wha-" Realization dawned on her.

"We're the specialists, fool devil." Nora spoke condescendingly as if talking to a child. "When the time is right, you may summon us to ugh- aid you in our capacity as devils." She added in an obvious undertone. "Though why the Chief would assign this obviously difficult mission to such an inexperienced devil . . . " she sighed dramatically, before looking at Hakua with pity, ". . . You shall need all the help we can give, little one."

"How dare you look down on me like that." Hakua retorted. "Have you even seen my record since getting to the mortal realm? Two! You old hag! Two in a month!"

"Hmph," Nora shook her head, "Silly devil, I've already captured three."

Shocked, Hakua repeated, "Three?" Then she had a thought. "Are those three by yourself or including those your flunkies got for themselves."

Again, Nora looked unsettled. "How impudent! You flat-chested devil!"

"Why you-"

"Is there a problem, specialist Leoria?"

A moderate voice stopped their argument flat. Dokuru appeared unobtrusively near Nora's waist as the two devils stood at attention and acknowledged him. "No sir, everything's good."

Dokuru looked from one to the other before nodding and reintroducing Nora. "Specialist Leoria shall be your liaison to the specialists I've assigned to your mission, Hakua. She shall be your go-to devil in case something comes up.

"I hope you'll take the time to get along with each other as you work together."

OoOoOoOo

Hakua traced invisible runes onto the school's concrete rooftop, her mind relieved, though still slightly worried, at the commoner's sudden committment to the contract. While she had no illusions that it was a surefire way to get to the spirit, at least it was a step – the final one of which would be her part to play in finally capturing it.

The circle glowed with impotent purple lights as Hakua looked on critically. After it was settled in, she took a deep breath, because she was finally done with securing Majima for the confrontation to come. Hearing the bell ring, she made her way, invisible, to the door.

It burst open, and out came a twisting, frothing mess of human flesh. The two students were so entwined around each other, but this was not what horrified Hakua the most as she fled, almost instantaneously, to the skies – screaming Hellish obscenities at this seemingly amoral institution.

Later, the school bell rang, signalling the end of the day. Hakua sat on the branches of a tree, reviewing the lore sent to her by Dokuru. She tried to get her mind out of that event, focusing on the inevitable capture.

She turned a page, reviewing what she'd learned thoughtfully as she munched on some pastries Keima's mother had given her that morning.

_But Hakua-chan, you'll soon be learning how to make those, okay?~~_

Hakua shivered despite herself. It wasn't like she was here on the mortal realm to learn how to cook or anything! Her job was to capture spirits! She brooded, munching on another tasty mouthful.

The tell-tale beeping of a runaway spirit alert almost made her stumble ungracefully out of the canopy, but with remarkable self-posession she righted herself in time. She glanced at her empty hands and frowned, she'd dropped the pastry.

"What are the odds," she breathed, knowing the implications the alert brought. The beeping siren placed the spirit right here, in Majima. She set her shoulders straight, rustling the silent pressure that she felt was always there. Her raiment fluttered around her comfortingly, driven as it was by the light breeze.

She set her skull ornament back onto the top of her purple-wreathed hair as she flew off in the direction of the alert.

"_Indeed you shall not. Indeed you must not."_

_"Thank you sir, I shall not fail."_

One Runaway Spriit or two, there was nothing that Hakua de Rotto Helmium was afraid to face, except failure.

"Do you hear me commoner? You cannot- _we _cannot afford to fail the contract."


	13. Idolizers and Silencers: Ending Rising

Two bolts of energy coruscated around each other, revolving like warring cobras before colliding with each other in an explosion of colors and power. Smoke emanated from the heated ground where the collision had been, and it was quickly waved away by an impatient hand.

The devil, now seeing through the dissipating haze the peril in the other's hellfire-charged fingers, brought her weapon up to defend. A loud pop like a toy gun firing indicated the spell deflection had worked, but that did not prevent her being blown away by the force of spell meeting weapon.

The other was quick to press the advantage, bringing her weapon to bear. She swung the spike-barbed club down and stopped an inch above the defenseless devil's face. It made the devil cross-eyed to see the enormous weapon up close, and she let out a breath of acceptance.

"I submit."

A loud ring brayed to signal the end of the mock battle, and Nora helped her fallen enemy up to her feet after putting away her weapon.

"Still can't beat you, eh, Nora?"

"Oh dear, it's just from all the decades of practice. . . " Nora laughed the praise off, even if her face showed that she was pleased. The two of them walked over to where the three other specialists had been standing watching – along with their diminutive Section Chief and superior, Dokuru Skull.

"A superb display of skill, specialist Leoria," Dokuru congratulated warmly. "And you too, specialist Rotia." he nodded at the other devil. The spell-containment dome dissipated around them, revealing the rest of the Great Sensor station, where curious helper and operator- demons had gathered all around.

"You flatter me so, sir," Nora smiled sweetly. "It was but studious practice, tradition and fiery talent that has helped me to be the devil I am." She looked around at the other specialists, who each had ambiguous expressions on their faces.

"Sir! Member Helmium has an incoming transmission!" An operator devil called out behind them all.

Nora continued in the same saccharine tone, ignoring the exasperated looks the other specialists were giving her, "The devil Helmium seems to be doing that an awful lot, sir. Is she unsure as to her duties? Is it not dangerous to allow a junior-class devil to handle two runaway spirits?..." she let her voice trail off.

Unfazed, Dokuru continued to the transmission screen. "I have every confidence Hakua will prevail in the end, specialist Leoria. Besides, it is the only way for her to learn, and this experience, whether ending in success or failure will certainly be educational, for all of us." He motioned for the operator devil to proceed. "Having two runaway spirits appear one after another in such a short time . . . there must be more to Majima than we pre-supposed. . . " Dokuru left his wondering voice trail off.

"Well, I have every confidence in your assessment, sir. Let us hope Helmium meets your expectations." Nora smiled, a bit crookedly.

"She cannot afford the alternative, though, but again I think it shall not come to that. Hakua knows this, and that is why she shall not fail."

"Truly, she must not." the black-toned specialist's crooked smile widened, her face twisting as if contemplating some dread scheme (even if she was not).

OoOoOoOo

**The World God Only Knows**

OoOoOoOo

A Good Ending is the Only Ending

OoOoOoOo

A hellish, unearthly wail rent the calm night breeze as twenty-some tons of force crashed into the side of a building. The sounds of crashing glass and shattered walls faded to nothing as the damage was mysteriously closed up, and the building was once again whole and undamaged.

Flying high above, having narrowly dodged that particular attack, was Hakua de Rotto Helmium, figure blazing with so much strange energies and covered head to foot with runes that danced and revolved around her body, her scythe trailing behind her held by her purple raiment, now adorned and draped around her as if preparing for battle. She afforded the slowly reforming building a little side-glance as her hands began making a series of stabbing motions, after which her counter-attack erupted – four balls of fire trailing hot, magical energy that impacted into the released Runaway Spirit opposite her with a muffled whump.

She lowered her altitude when the creature's next sound attack came, disturbing the air where she'd been as her speed accelerated, zipping between the reality-molded buildings of Majima Outskirts, rushing straight at her foe.

The creature turned its bulbous head towards her, roaring a cacophony of screeches as its insectoid wings took flight and carried it away from the approaching devil. Hakua cursed, her raiment swiftly grabbing onto a nearby street-pole and halting her rush, causing her to spin rapidly around it before gracefully alighting at the top.

The beeping of her skull ornament drilled the urgency of the situation continuously in her brain, reminding her of her two-fold mission. The second one had just been released, thanks to the impossible, Herculean efforts of that acidic commoner, who had far exceeded her expectations in the preceding days.

She almost, _almost, _missed another sound wave from the enemy while she mused, a persisting weakness, she cursed herself; and one of her runes, a black-blue one with the forbidden symbol of _Terror _lit up briefly before covering her in a black miasma, which the attack struck against with an impotent whump. Hakua felt the strength of the attack threaten to overwhelm her protective cantrip, and it would have knocked her back were it not for her mobile magic circle's chosen runic design glueing her feet stubbornly to the ground. The blackness receded to reveal the unhurt devil, who waved the remaining blackness impatiently as she started preparing the initial stages of her battle-plan.

"We're still waiting little devil," chided a voice from her transmitter. "We can't channel this magic forever, you know."

Hakua banished Nora's voice from her mind as she took flight, her whole body coursing with the blood and fire of a Hellian; powerful, relentless. She leaped up an ascending stream of buildings, her bound-up purple hair whipping in the air silently, as she used her scythe to deflect the incoming attacks.

The district chief reached behind her and grasped her scythe, and many runes started adhering to and glowing strongly at its surface. A burst of energy later, Hakua let loose. Her battle had been joined.

OoOoOoOo

"What a drag my life has become," Keima had groused, lamented and deplored his condition one dull, bright morning on his way to school. His backlog was piling up, his website neglected, a (to him) worldwide network of gaming enthusiasts were wondering why the Capturing God wasn't replying to their entreaties, ah truly it was the end of his lifestyle, of his world. It was an injustice of the highest form.

Hakua came to him later that day, bringing a stack of papers that she demanded he read, all facts and observations her "inquisitive" (who comes up with these down there?)imps had gathered on his current targets. Yes, it was a plural; they were target_s_.

A highly unusual, unprecedented situation for a Third Eye like him to land in! In his games it was forbidden to attempt to love two girls at once in a single route. While he fully supported loving each girl equally, disregarding their flaws and extolling their virtues; as a rule, it was one girl to each route! Sure, there were times when certain routes would explore the "third" option, but again, it returned to the fact that they were forbidden! Even games had standards to follow! (which was appropriate)

Adding to his agony was the fact that one of the girls he would be after was the representation of his hated character type, the fake idol! Although, he had gladly accepted when he heard of the spirit's unique powers, for he knew now was the chance to expose idols for what they truly were, and he knew he would have to swallow his pills of patience and doggedness to bear the brunt of the sickening route to come . . .

But then a surprise flag out of nowhere: the second girl! The other! A quiet librarian! And he had to capture them both, at the _same time, _roughly, as the devil had suggested, offering the full potential of her backfiring magical means to aid in his deceptions; yet again Keima returned and dwelled on the captures' forbidden nature.

"A gamer cannot capture two girls in one sitting. A protagonist cannot serve two hearts: give to one heart its due in its route, and give to the other yours in hers." Those were the guidelines, in games!

"And why is that? It's amazing how you impose limitations on yourself, when you easily defy a hundred more!"

"Purity, devil. Purity! Love, for me must be pure, originating from a pure source, untainted . . . The emotional difficulties associated with having to juggle two hearts at the same time cannot be borne by the average man!"

"I've read before that human men would jump at the chance of having two women desire him." Hakua remarked thoughtfully.

"That's that and this is this! And for your information, I belong to the camp of pure love, for though I am God, my heart is given over to Yokkyun only! The rest are merely captures!"

"Yokkyun?. . . . Commoner, stop going on tangents and focus!"

Keima brushed the surface of his desk with a prepared sponge, resolutely scrubbing out the messages some vandals had left in it. Being a self-proclaimed otaku had its weaknesses in the Real, and this was one of them. He glanced around at the milling lunchtime crowds and sensed excitement, an almost tangible feeling of tense expectation that floated in the air. It was similar to the atmosphere outside the gameshops when Yokkyun's fandisk had come out. (Keima had ensured that he was the first, sacrificing afternoon class and night's sleep to be at the front of the line)

Stowing the damp sponge into his bag, Keima stood and sauntered over to the other side of the room with measured steps. He carefully side-stepped Ayumi, who was talking to a circle of her classmates, and reached out with a hand to tap their class president on the shoulder.

"Hm? What is it Otamega?" His class's laid-back but responsible president looked up from her magazine and raised a "why-are-you-talking-to-me" eyebrow. He ignored Chihiro's gaze, instead jerking a thumb to the excited gatherings behind him. "You know what's going on in there?"

The president's gaze swept from him to the crowd briefly before settling back on him. Her eyes narrowed in annoyance, "Goes to show how dumb you are when it comes to this huh? So here's a news tidbit for you, Otamega: Kanon's coming to town. To this classroom, actually. Just in time for the exam, where I'll soon be trumping you again."

Again, Keima ignored the provocative giggle (although Chihiro could be claimed to be the only one in this lazy class to afford high-grades, he still topped every test, which set the president off to no end) and tilted his head quizzically. "Kanon? You can't mean Nakagawa Kanon? Was she in our class?"

This time Chihiro laughed, a malicious streak hidden in it that did not just make Keima cringe, but adamantly bristle. "Aw man, Otamega, you sure crack me up. I mean, you're the only one smart enough to top me in this stupid school and all, but to miss this particular tidbit? Are you studying for tests under a rock or something?"

"Shut up," Keima snapped. "Answer the question."

"Okay there, glasgeek, you have my utmost assurance that one Nakagawa Kanon," here she rose and put her hand to her chest, bowing formally to Keima and pointing to the cover of her magazine, "is truly a member of our little class gathering, and should have been a regular student, were it not for her double life as an idol. I swear on all the uh," she glanced at her desk, "on all the good side-dishes I've eaten over lunch, and may the gods make me puke if it ain't true. There, happy? I am. Now, please get lost." She sat back down, flipping the magazine open, effectively screening him from her sight.

Keima turned on his heel and walked steadily back to his own desk, his mind racing with the implications. An astounding coincidence, almost making him suspect a cosmic collaboration, that Nakagawa Kanon would be a student in close proximity! He'd figured he would have to get close using an assumed identity at the studio or agency where she worked, but now this simplified things! An easy matter to arrange with the she-devil, Keima thought as he tapped his amulet absentmindedly.

Now for the other one, the librarian . . .

Behind him, Ayumi whispered a question to her friend the president. The latter shook her head, keeping her face hidden within the pages. The both of them glanced discreetly, for a while, at the furtively muttering Otamega.

OoOoOoOo

They were going at it again, she saw from her hidden spot between the foreign section and the technical manuals shelf.

She was angry, as she should be, for it was inappropriate, and above all, violated the sanctity of the library.

She remembered their faces so clearly, their secret sighs and stares of longing and desire, just like she remembered every detail of the heroines' struggles, every theory about time and space, and every bits of trivia concerning _things. _

There all she had gotten from the wonderful device of books, a portal to hidden worlds and dreams.

She knew she had an unusual gift, and were it not for her desire to remain as she was, an earnest librarian, she would have been hailed as a genius, a true prodigy of such astounding mnemonic accuracy.

Sighing despondently, she turned her eyes away from the hateful scene and walked sluggishly back to her desk, where some new arrivals were perched in haphazard columns and piles. It was her somewhat duty to ensure that these books would be relevant for the purposes of the students, caring not of the cynical knowledge that these wouldn't actually be put to good use; that in the end, she was probably the only one who could really enjoy what books could offer.

What more, indeed, could she want?

Giggling silently to herself, Shiori chose a book at random and flipped it to its side, looking at its spine. _Light novel. _There seemed to be a lot of these coming in to the library, and she wondered if she might propose a light novel section in the next meeting. Oh well. Time to read.

Shiori cracked open the book tenderly, as if opening a birthday present while taking care not to damage the wrapper. She breathed deeply, savoring the familiar, fresh smell of a yet unopened book, its wealth of information untouched; virgin. The girl flushed at the last thought, and banished it to the recesses of her mind as she turned the next page. The barest hint of a smile was on her face as she began to read – of heroines who led secret otaku lives, of impish little sisters, and of clueless monsters and hidden genies and a circle of friendless friends and of espers, time-travellers and aliens, and of heroines pining for their single knight in shining armor, a stranger in a strange land, and she read some more of magician warrior heroines with powers of flame, of a world where science and magic were not that separate from each other, she saw and heard how a certain student council spent their time talking and doing nothings, and marvelled at the tale of the tiger who loved the dragon. Her eyes, were one to see her as she read, flashed across each word and each page with the speed of light, impossible indeed but there are few ways to describe how she turned her page every other moment, her mind far away (now seeing herself as a knight-errant who was also a king, summoned through magical means to fight in a secret magical war)

Halfway through the pile, she heard a peculiar music reach her ears. Her eyebrows furrowed, and her mouth resolved into a small pout. She placed one of her bookmarks into the page and sighed. She stood from her desk, evidently displeased at this interruption.

She glanced around. The music was faint but seemed not to have come from a distance, which puzzled her. There were only a few people in the library, some she recognized as regulars (_including two _very special _regulars . . . ) _Stranger still, was that no one seemed to be affected by the music for to her it seemed that the music was loud. Shiori unconsciously mashed her nervous hands against each other.

Almost imagining herself a hunter, Shiori stalked through the shelves, trying to close in on the source of the music. It had risen in pitch now, and had also changed its tune. Now it seemed heightened, as if it was moving with her.

_What is this? . . . ._

She crossed sections, slipped through undusted shelves, doubled-back again and again, using the huge clock on the central pillar as her landmark, and she still had not found it. Was it a prank of sorts, a sound device hidden inside the books? _How could they do such a thing? _Or, she frowned, was it coming from those two in the forbidden section?

The music followed her, again changing tone as she resolutely walked towards their "usual" place. Now would be a time to stop this, now was the reckoning! She now imagined herself a righteous warrior, clad in glorious battle-armor as she set out to defeat a demon.

She started humming in tune with the music, a lopsided grin on her face. She coudn't stop herself from blushing, though.

Yet when she turned the corner, her feet stopped.

Her heart followed, and so did the music.

There was a stillness of a painting, and the music returned.

A wave of scarlet passed over her as she confusedly beheld -

Wait, she didn't even know his name!

She pointed, her mouth opening and closing silently, disbelieving what she'd seen. The music had faded into the background for her, shoved there by the emotion of outrage she now felt.

Bam! Down went her hand on Katsuragi's cheek, to stop him from committing a crime against all written books.

OoOoOoOo

"Is it in your nature, commoner, to take beatings to the head often?" Hakua wondered to the Capturing God, who was nursing a bruised face from his encounter with the other, Shiori Shiomiya. It was a necessary step to start this delicate tightrope route, and the library was as good a starting point as any, if he were to follow his plan.

Next would be establishing the flag with the fake idol, which turned out to be a bit tricky.

He stood behind a crowd of rabid worshippers, _fanboys _they called themselves, all bending knee to a devil-possessed idol and presently proclaiming their love in an outdoor meeting right outside the recording studio where Kanon was. The duo were standing quite some feet away, but near enough to the milling passersby behind them who each cast dubious glances on the frothing crowd.

"Well, she did catch me in the act of rewriting a piece of trivia in the book," Keima muttered. "Even though it was justified: the writer mixed up his release dates pretty badly. I wonder how much research he'd done when writing it?" He shook his head.

"Yet is it not a part of her duty to protect her charges? Those little tablets of printed knowledge you mortals hoard, she seems like a jealous drake-guardian, protecting them like that." Hakua mused, recalling her own misadventures as a young devil in the many Archives of the Underworld, where stacked on human-like shelves were the secrets Hell knew that mortals would have paid hand and foot and mouth for; and yet even more secrets only a few Hellians were privy to, hidden inside chambers protected by the most powerful of wards, some as ancient as Hell itself, guarded zealously by many-coloured drakes and mutated ogres. Hakua loved to research, and it just so happened that one of her past inquires had pointed her to the forbidden chambers, and it was then that she was almost cast into oblivion, the very first wards testing her mind and heart, nearly breaking the two before her mentor Lord Kiseth had come to her rescue.

She flushed and cleared her throat. Still invisible, she asked then "But you are certain that it hasn't spoiled your chances with the librarian right?"

"I should think so, probably. Don't hit me, I can almost feel your scythe even if it's invisible. I'd explained to her what I was doing, and it seemed clear from her silence that she wasn't really displeased, though I'm not sure if she was pleased. But it was an event flag, she-devil."

"How can you tell something from mere silence?"

"You can tell a lot of things from the silence of humans . . . Just like you should be quiet, there's something important in my mind." His mouth set in a thin, resigned line, Keima took a deep breath and said, "Remember the plan, devil. Now, I think we should begin."

A moment later, there was a new addition to the self-proclaimed #1 fancrowd of the beautiful Nakagawa Kanon, an almost indescript man with an average and forgettable face, wearing the clothes that proclaimed his devotion to the idol and wearing a band around his head, as all fans should wear.

And as the group cheered and chortled, speaking of Kanon's next appearances, of her rumored return to Majima (many were glad to know that their favorite idol came from _their _city), an unknown soaked up their knowledge, disguised through the powers of his companion. They were unaware of this new addition and of his hidden motives, as he also joked with them, traded oaths of devotion and vows of celibacy, and they spent the time speculating on Kanon's future plans, and each proclaiming that they were Kanon's number one fan.

And just as abruptly, their new addition vanished, and they were just as unaware of it.

"It's certainly an amazing thing, your Hell magic," Keima said. They were both now on their usual meetup place, the school rooftop. As it was already dusk, they had it all to themselves. Keima had removed his revolting outfit and was now plugging commands into the RPG galge on his PFP. "One almost thinks your kind has the potential to dominate this world, the human realm, but you don't. That's another amazing thing too. I'm almost tempted to think of the things I could do with your power."

"Don't go there, Katsuragi." Hakua warned, her expression serious. "There's a reason – actually there are many reasons- why the demons don't interfere too much in the affairs of humans anymore. As it stands, you cannot request me, as I've said before on the previous target, to recreate reality for you. We are forbidden to do so, on the pain of oblivion."

"You demons are certainly an uptight kind. With all that power in your hands, you could be gods, like me."

"Demons were, to an extent." Hakua said thoughtfully, her gaze distant. The moon had just freshly appeared on the night-ridden sky. "I don't have any idea why it isn't so anymore."

"Maybe they evolved into the flat-chested girl-looking demons like the one I'm talking to right now, and because of that their powers diminished."

"Hey, for your information, this appearance is just another cantrip you know. My true form, as a demon would scorch your mind."

"I'm sure it wouldn't be as terrible as the being before me, it'd probably be more beautiful, even . . . Wait, I redact that."

They both started, and gazed into each other's eyes at that moment, and only for a moment, before they pulled away.

Some hours later, Kanon's ride home (home was a relative word to her, who had many destinations to go to) was detoured, owing to a devious plot by some men in hoods. Kidnappers, they'd presumed. The idol feared for that moment for her life, as she cowered in the backseat. Help came, unlooked-for, in the form of many oddly-dressed gentlemen leaping out of the bushes to fend off the would-be assailants with some words, twigs between each finger, and a bit of harsh language and a battle-cry that mentioned her name.

The self-proclaimed #1 Kanon fanclub and her dazed, but still grateful driver for the night were amazed to learn that Kanon had disappeared, leaving her bag and studio scripts in the backseat.

The idol in question was sprawled out on a secluded spot in a nearby park, her terror-stricken feet having brought her here. Presently she rose, her fine, lovely cheeks coloring in shame and a sort of breathless aftershock from the unexpected event.

Looking around, she discovered that the park wasn't that secluded after all. There, sitting on a bench illuminated by a single lamp-post was a boy, who seemed a man. Sitting sullenly and giving her not a single glance sat one who looked to the rest of the world like a man lost in his own thoughts.

Kanon was unnerved, for at this late hour, who would be caught sitting alone by themselves on a bench of all places? Couldn't he be a dangerous man, too? Someone who, for all intents and purposes, did or would not recognize Nakagawa Kanon, even when she caught him glancing at her? The young starlet frowned and walked the few steps closer to the man.

"Good evening," she greeted brightly, putting on her best idol face and using her best off-stage interview idol voice. "Excuse my rudeness, but my name is-"

"Miss, could you please not interrupt my lamp-light? I'm busy sulking, okay?"

He certainly had a dry, but melodious voice for someone who seemed rude, and who also didn't seem to recognize her: Nakagawa Kanon, recent Newcomer award winner and famous idol? What kind of rock did this guy sleep under?

"Excuse me, but would you happen to know who I am?" She absently grasped for her bag, which she just then realized with a fearful jolt, wasn't there.

"Right. You're that idol I've seen on some posters. Or at least, you look like her. Whatever, could you stay away now?" The glimmer of hope and pride she'd felt was soon erased, and suddenly Kanon didn't know what to do with this stranger. She felt a conflicting mixture of emotions then: anger, shame, wonder, perhaps a bit of each.

She'd apparently stayed silent for some time because the man rose and sighed tiredly, shooting her a rueful gaze which she did not return. The stranger walked over to another bench and sat on it, avoiding her gaze. They spent thus in silence, after which the man sighed and pulled out a pen, which he twirled around his finger expertly. The mesmerizing motion kept the both of their attentions, with the stranger's brow furrowing deeper with each second. The pen, slipped from his hand and clacked and clattered to the ground, and the stranger watched it roll over to her feet.

Kanon stooped to pick it up and hand it over, and the man murmured a brusque and cold thanks before repeating the motion.

The harrassed looking driver arrived minutes later, and as she was driven away with much apologies, she couldn't help but think of that mysterious stranger, who seemed aloof and lonely. She'd said her good-bye, and it seemed that he had ignored her, sitting patiently on that bench. Who was he and why didn't he look at her the way her admirers did? Was he that much of a gloomy guy? Perhaps he'd light up more if he heard her song.

"Yes, that's right . . . I just have to sing a song for him! Then he'll acknowledge me!"

OoOoOoOo

It wasn't the first time that Hakua had soared on mortal skies. She remembered the field assignments the students had been given: to observe the mortal world and write up a piece about it. When she'd emerged from the magic circle (that was when she'd also been first introduced to her porting sickness), she saw the vast blue ceiling overhead and was awestruck.

Hakua liked the soaring blue and white, for compared to the thunderous black canopy and swirling neon colors of Hell's, this was at least peaceful. She'd tried to fly high, higher than her magic could allow, and she loved the feel of strong winds buffeting her rune-reinforced body, the way her hair (it had ben short then), whipped around her face in tatters so that when she was finally ordered back onto the ground, her teacher would scold her as she stood, her hair in disorder and cheeks flushed from the exhilarating journey up.

That was centuries ago, if she'd reckoned her human years right. Since then she'd grown, learned much and began to work for the glowing future of Hell. And now she was facing that same blue sky again, as part of her plan to seal two spirits at once.

The beast howled below her, a black blob to her now as it pursued her higher and ever higher. The swirling runes faded color when touched by the bright orb of light, and she shielded her eyes with a magical ward as she steadily ascended to the clouds. She looked below: the beast was still with her, inexplicably drawn by the scrumptious magical morsel that tried to evade its grasp.

It was a simple enough cantrip, using the especial runes of avaricia and some other minor runes of luxurya added in to the mix to create a potent fused spell that had forced the spirit to desire her over anything else in the world. Any other time, Hakua would have found it a sickening thought, but today she was a demon, and she would brook no failure.

She halted her ascent, abruptly, allowing the wind lashing her body to still for a while. The devil felt the unholy presence behind her come nearer on its buzzing wings, pincered beak clacking together in anticipation and frothing desire. Hakua signalled the specialist demons who were impatiently waiting, alerting them to the next stage of the plan, before she dissolved the runes that kept her aloft, and so started to fall, at high speed, back to the ground.

The spirit-thing shrieked as she passed it swiftly by, barely avoiding being clawed into its dark embrace. She closed her eyes briefly, letting gravity drag her down, the wind once again stirring her whole body as she fell, like a rune-colored falling star, back onto Majima.

Before she became mincemeat on top of a building, she reactivated the floater runes, and she was flying again, darting invisible through the late afternoon streets of the city as she felt the containment dome dissolve around her, slowly letting her and the spirit mold back into reality. She saw faint images, like two-dimensional TV things appear all around the street, the humans whom she should never show magic to.

She sped back to the institution where she'd left her buddy– Katsuragi, the brilliant commoner now, she reminded herself – the spirit still irrestibly drawn to her, despite the strong magical presences nearby (though they had taken the precautions of cloaking themselves first) that were busy erecting another dome. She looked up just in time to see the other runaway spirit, still a mere potent mass of tepid blackness, and she focused her magic to a point, delivering a dagger-like spell across the air that pierced through the spirit that had once been inside Shiori Shiomiya.

The first one made a gurgling sound behind her, for she had stopped and alighted on the rooftop, place of many plans and arguments. The spirit slipped in just in time as the dome closed in around the three, shielding this battlefield from the Real. The second hissed in annoyance, uttering strange hoots as it flew up, glowing eyes blaring hatred at the devil who had stabbed it.

There they were, two arrayed against one, in a battle only Hakua would know. The specialists were just outside the dome, awaiting her signal of success, or failure should it come to that (though she wouldn't). One of her foes was a confirmed level four, and the other unconfirmed, but still an enemy to note.

It was said in ages past that devils controlled magic as a human controlled his hands, which is to say, quite freely - unhampered by the Word. She didn't know when that changed: when the devils started copying from the humans (who had stolen magic from them in the first place), and the use of much words became necessary to accomplish magic. So they now had runes, fetishes, short and long chants of power and much hand-waving, and magic circles (though devils at least made these mobile). The uttered or scribed Word was law, and it was only through that that magic was possible.

Hakua started humming, chanting words that would hurt human ears. They were like a mantra to Hakua's own ears, as even she could not fully understand what the memorized words of Ancient Hell meant, but it had its effect. The circles she'd erected all over Majima glowed, and all of their stored energies, harvested from the depths of the Underworld, all of them in that moment streamed towards her, suffusing her form with so many colors. An impressive display of dancing and glittering runes followed, but what mattered was the change of their host, the temporary power that she had gained. Demons thrived on power. What Hakua gained, Dokuru Skull had briefed her, was the power of a Lesser Demon.

The spirits somehow knew it too, as the second tensed, like a beast that has met its superior, but the first only shrieked in a sort of nervous giggle, anticipating its next meal.

"I've confirmed the security of the dome, little devil," a condescending voice spoke through her skull ornament, the object that somehow seemed more animated now, eyesockets glaring and growing fangs that bared into her hair. "Don't slip up now that you've come this far, we would be . . .disappointed . . ."

Hakua made no reply, because the hungry, snarling first spirit had already leapt at her. Her weapon of office, a scythe that was no longer a scythe, roared red and green and purple in reply.

OoOoOoOo

_The heroines' conflict, _Keima would think in his spare time, which was a rarety, _can never be truly guessed from the onset. There are some games that present it at the start, like clues in a mystery story, but that is during the trunk, during the time when a protagonist is surrounded by many choices, many events. _

_No, _he continues to surmise, as he walks his dreamscape confidently, his steps echoing across the unlit imagery with the surety of a god, _A heroine's heart must know that it is loved, before the conflict can be seen. To do that, the protagonist must have opened his heart, forming a connection with the chosen, a connection of trust, intimacy, and ultimately, love. One knows it is the right time when the other worries about the self because he/she worries about the other, and so the conflict is born and the story clambers up the peak of climax. _

_What then, of these Real targets? If we were to assume that I would be able to know their conflicts from my "bonding" with them, then it would have appeared when _I _have genuinely fallen for them. But I haven't, I am far too Divine for the mundane Real rules of falling in love. Yet they have opened their hearts and conflicts in their turn, and so have not followed the rules (in games). Is this the difference in the Real? _He ran a hand through his hair, picking off the few pieces of wool that had stuck there in his dream for some reason.

He couldn't know what each of his targets felt, for he could not read minds, and he had adamantly refused to have Hakua track them to their homes with her "inquisitive" imps. No, he could not know, he must not insinuate himself into their lives anymore than he can help it. He would have to rely on his interactions with them, on the routes that he was sure to be soon reaching the climax.

The question for Keima was: could love then, be a transient thing altogether? This young god was evidently confused.

He felt as if he was walking down a narrow causeway, and he could see through the corners of his eyes the afterimages of the route on either side of him, but when he would look, they would fade away.

The afternoon schedule always started with a visit to Shiori in the library. She thought him the consummate loner, who seemed to love spending his quiet time unobtrusively playing his games within a corner of the library. Since he was time-locked, Keima had to begin aggressively, and that was why he'd ordered Hakua to play illusions on her senses, making Shiori see colorful images and hear music whenever he would arrive and continuing on while they conversed. "Just like in games, it is customary for the Third-Eye to know something about the heroine by the atmosphere that is evoked: so sometimes music is used." It would be effective in turning her heart to him, at least until the conflict would be revealed. And so they conversed, he in half-heard whispers, she in gentle silence, and Keima expressed his distaste for the way the library was being used, as it was bad enough he couldn't play his games in the rooftop, and Shiori nodded agreement, seemingly happy to know someone at least understood. Then he would put his PFP away and brush his fingers slowly, sensually against the spines of the books on the shelves, his eyes on each title he grazed but his mind fixed on the effect this would have on the watching Shiori, and he was sure that she was being exposed to more grandiose music then.

It was underhanded for a god, but there was no time for real romances in a two-way route like this.

"But you know," he had said, "I feel like the age of books will soon be over. It's _sad _to admit, but the convenience of technology might render libraries . . . obsolete." He had then glanced at her, expecting a response.

And so she had one, dragging him bodily by his collar as she went to all the shelves, whispering in her own half-heard tunes the wondrous things hidden inside the cover, pointing to this and that book and of how she had memorized the content there, and that she _knew _there wouldn't be anything that could replace the utility of books, because she'd seen and recalled it all, and she knew it was there. It was then that Keima discovered her uncanny memorizing skills (wondering briefly if she would be able to help him reorganize his inventory of games, for he too had amazing recall, in games).

Then he'd apologized, and took her by the hand to exit the library. At first she had protested, claiming her librarian duties, then her desire never to leave the library as long as she could help it, then blushing furiously in her familiar silent way as he led her to the top floor, where he pointed to the open grounds that separated them from the middle-school building. He pointed to the way the students were using their own various technologies: cellphones and portable music players and little computers and PFPs, and he claimed that that was the future, and it was inevitable.

They argued -pleasantly- about its relevance to books, and of her countering that it wasn't just about the books, it was about the wonderful place they would be in, like the library she loved so much, and without books there'd be no library, and people like her would cease to exist, and he'd acceded, because that last point seemed to disturb him real bad. He'd then joked about how books should be like the cans in vending machines, and it would be a lovely compromise, and she hit him gently on the shoulder, after which he wryly offered to get her a drink, to which she tried to refuse, but then he'd steered her that way, silently protesting all the while. Then they enjoyed a quiet time sipping their respective drinks, no conversation of words, but a conversation of reflections.

It would be hard to record those silent moments they shared, so eternal in their brevitudes, a quick smiling glance here, a look of understanding there, the many words that Shiori wanted to say but could only express in her steadfast silence, for there was an important other thing that surfaced, that seemed to coincide well with this route (and for that the Capturing God was grateful), and that was when they both returned, satisfied, to the library, as the sun sank over the horizon and Keima began planning for his meeting with Kanon.

Shiori had read the notice for book disposal.

The fake idol, on the other hand, was a bit more vocal to the Capturing God, though maybe that was due to Keima's vindictive manipulation of the event flags that he set up for Nakagawa Kanon. At first, there had been the classroom appearance.

"Here's hoping to see you there, everyone~~" there were oohs and aahs all around, for the day had finally come when Kanon returned to class, at least for a little while. Naturally during break, Kanon had been mobbed by her admirers from the class and all the way from the other classes, and so she had spent some time entertaining them and answering questions.

He had noticed her eyes on him all the time.

"What's his name?" he heard her whisper to Chihiro, who had taken all the ruckus with her usual, easygoing stride.

"You mean the guy who's wasting his life playing his nonsense games? I should say he's a nobody, but since he's the only one in this school who could beat me, and because there's a little respect that comes from that, I say his name is Katsuragi Keima." She leaned in conspiratorially. "And you do not want to associate with his kind, heck, even half the otakus in this school can't compare to him. He's a unique, unpleasant flavor altogether."

Keima felt the coldest gazes pierce his mental bubble as most of the students' attentions were drawn to him because of Kanon's curiosity. _I'll get you back, you idol!_

Flag complete, Keima disappeared during dismissal, being sure to have Hakua confirm (invisibly) that Kanon had been watching. And so, his gamble had begun, and had been paid off, when that night, Kanon had come to him at the park again.

"So you're Katsuragi Keima, huh?" She peered down at him through her glasses. Keima gave her a sullen look, his own glasses reflecting the overhead lamplight, and replied glumly, "Oh yeah, I remember you from the morning. Welcome back to the school, I guess." And then he looked back down again.

"Thank you!" She beamed. But seeing him ignore her, Kanon restarted her track, and spoke once more. "Um, would you like some tickets to my next full show? It's going to be held at the stadium, and um, I'd really hope you could come! Y-you could bring your friends if you like."

Despite himself, Keima could feel a faint tug at his heart, and were it not for Hakua's description of the spirit, he would have doubted himself at that moment. Kanon oozed a natural bubbly charm that was made even more apparent as she chattered. As it was, he coldly quashed down the feeling, already mentally smirking at the clueless Spirit host as she spoke to him of performances and her own self-centered thoughts.

He waved away the proffered tickets. "Thanks for the offer," he said gruffly. "But I really can't. It's private."

"Aww, but you play your games all day!" He looked up, feigning surprise. "I saw you, you know. Everyone in the class thinks you're some kind of freak, and I think I see their point, but they don't know _this_ part of you, as I do. It makes you kind of mysterious, in a way." She trailed off. Keima snorted silently.

"Say, would you like me to sing you a song?" she asked suddenly. "It's going to be my special offer, one-time, super-secret! Of course, it's too bad there aren't any sounds, but I always say my voice was the best! Come on, Katsuragi-kun, look at me! _Look at me now!_"

The Capturing God had then been shocked, quite literally, by two tazers which the fake, _dangerous _idol had used at him. He looked at her in a daze, his body still trying to recover from the sudden shock.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"I need you to look at me _now! _I'm going to give you a performance, and you're going to pay attention!" She demanded, her cheeks puffed up in a cute way (which Keima didn't find at all endearing).

"You're a pain, you know that? Could you please just leave me? You've obviously got far more important things to do than cater to some random guy in the park." Keima growled in annoyance.

"No, I want to cheer you up with a song, and that's what I'm going to do!"

"Why the heck should I need to be cheered up? Do you think I'm feeling down or something?" He asked angrily.

_Zap! _"Okay, listen. This is a new song the manager gave me, it has some weird lyrics in it, but I gotta sing it at the next show. Hmm, I think you could also consider it my practice of sorts, and you'll be one of the first to hear me sing! How's that, huh? Hey!"

_Zap! _A twitching Keima watched, quite literally thunderstruck, as Kanon began humming and subsequently singing a tune that was supposed to be her next song. He wouldn't begrudge her voice, the Capturing God saw, but he wasn't some producer looking for the next best thing here, he was here to root out the spirit in her! And be her downfall!

"So?" Kanon asked breathlessly after she was done. "How was my song?"

Keima raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, were you singing? I thought it was just the crickets buzzing in my ear." His eyes widened upon seeing the tazers. "Stop! Sheesh, you almost remind me of – a game heroine, that doesn't matter." He pulled out the pen he played with. "But I truly apologize to you. You see, I can't afford to look at you right now. I'm busy working on my goal."

A nervous twitch. "Oh? And what's that goal then, Katsuragi-kun?"

"To find-" he began, then paused upon seeing Kanon, as if for the first time. "The perfect idol."

Silence. Then Kanon pointed to herself. "Am I not enough for you?" She blinked her eyes hesitantly and did a little twist and twirl which would have made any Kanon fan at the moment bleed his brains out. But since it was the Capturing God, Keima only snickered, pointing at her, "You? You're just a commercialized idol, there's no way you're my perfect idol. Besides, there are some qualities I'm looking for, and I'm sure you don't have some of them."

"Hmph. And what would you know about a perfect idol's qualities, Katsuragi-kun?"

"Oh I know a lot, you can be assured of that. Like," He began counted off his finger, "A naturally melodic voice."

There was a sign of a pout.

"A beauty that goes beyond the physical."

The pout became more pronounced.

"A charm that can enchant gods!"

She tilted her head.

"Among other things." Kanon opened her mouth to say something, but Keima went on, "And also, a heart that could fall in love with this guy." He concluded in a faint, trembling voice. He perked open one eye to see the uneasy expression on the idol's face. "W-w-well, it really seems to be hard, like you said."

"You see?" He sighed despondently, leaning back on the bench. "All this time I've been looking for an idol and the right one has yet to appear before me. But when she comes, it will like be the birth of a new star in my sky. Oh, I would kiss her feet, worship her shadow, adore the very land she walks on! I would be the bee of her flower, the knight for her princess!"

"I-I'm sure someone will appear for you," Kanon said fervently. "But regardless, I am the best idol you've seen yet, right? Right? Before your perfect one arrives, I am still the best, right?" There was a dangerous flash in her eyes.

"Prove it."

"Eh?"

"Prove to me that you are an idol worth _looking at. _I can ignore the falling in love part, because I know you won't, but if you can show me your, shall we say, real face as an idol, then I'll acknowledge you. Do whatever it is you can do to prove you are the best idol there is." Keima harrumphed in satisfaction.

"Fine! I'll take that challenge,Katsuragi-kun! Before my next show, I'll prove that I'm the best idol! I've come this far to fall short of anyone's expectations now. And that includes you!" She pointed at him, before beaming a goodbye and running from that place.

"Oh you just go on ahead there, Kanon," Keima smirked to himself after she was long gone. The glow of magic presaged the arrival of his tormentor. "Your next show _will_ prove to be an interesting treat to watch, as I'd have removed everything related to your so-called charm long before. Just you watch!" With that, the newly arrived Hakua had then stood watching perplexedly for some time as the Capturing God cackled his head off.

The scene dissolved, and like liquid mercury colors of the images oozed down to be replaced by the yawning dark. Keima watched it all with a studious frown,

_Shall we then assume that love is not a potent force? If it is allowed to be deceived by just anyone, then even its essence is challenged. There can be no pure love that results from one side deceiving the other. It is in our opinion, after all, that love must spring from pure bonds._

_"_Oh~~ You're certainly quick to dismiss that so easily," said the disembodied voice behind him.

Keima suppressed a shiver in his spine as he turned to regard the figure behind him, his constant dream companion now, ever-shrouded in a film of mist that hid its form. What he guessed of his nature was quickly forgotten in the morning, like the details of dreams after one wakes up.

This Keima knew, that the thing in the mist was dangerous, a throwback perhaps to previous dream incarnations of Keimas, who had-

"Oh for Sheol's sake," interrupted the voice. It boomed like dry thunder on the mountains, yet carried the undertone of flowing honey. "Could **you** _please _stop thinking out loud in this place? I can hear _everything_ you know, and it's really not pleasant to be _always_ hearing your mundane thoughts."

"I would inquire as to your identity, but I have a feeling you'll reply that it won't matter."

"And so **you** guess right. How _have _you been, little one? It must've seemed _ages _since I've talked with you here, in this place." Keima looked around: gone was the blackness, and it was now the familiar misted scene with the solitary tower in the distance. "**You** _must _tell me of the things you've seen in this 'Real', seeing as it's the only story worth hearing around _here."_

"No, I'd rather think on it alone," Keima declined. "As long as I don't know you."

"Oh but I know **you** so _well!" _The troubled mortal who holds a thousand innocent maidens' hearts in his hands, so _masterful, _to wield so much power over these poor unfortunates, and yet ask _nothing _in return! _All _**you **desire is the satisfaction of the conquest, the knowledge that you have beaten yet another game! And that is admirable, I think. So come, speak your troubles, because I think _I _am the _only _one who can possibly understand **you. **And after, you can simply repay me later on by helping me clean this filthy place.**"**

**"**My reasons stand. And anyway, what would you be able to do for me? You're just a dream-thing, a figment of my derlirious imagination!"

"Oh, but I am capable of _many _things, young mortal. I _could _counsel **you** on your present troubles." The blackness returned, which was afterwards replaced by the images of his memories with Shiori and Kanon. "**You **worry, as is your _right _as the 'God of Conquests', about the intergrity of your actions, whether these little birds _have _actually fallen in love."

"I'm not going to answer that," he retorted savagely. _Come on, wake up . . . _

She continued despite him, "**You **worry that such love, which can be considered _false _in games, might not exist _there_abouts, and now **you **wonder why they have opened _their _hearts to **you, **when you do not love them in return. Have I hit the nail on its stubborn _head?_"

"Oh for the love of- See, now you're the one who's thinking out loud way too much."

"Yet how can I counsel **you **if I do _not? _By your definitions, a 'two-way route' is already an impure 'route'. If it were _real_, and _not_ just Real, then many would think **you** a two-timing _flirt-abou_t, Oh such scenes are sure to arise!"

Keima's eyes were irresistibly drawn to the new images, and he quirked an eyebrow to see a typical game scene play, but this time with 2D sprites of Shiori and Kanon. The words below scrolled by as if someone had pressed the skip button, and the sprites themselves changed outfits and expressions every millisecond, now happy then angry. The Capturing God fancied he could read "liar", "good-for-nothing", and "sex fiend" – though he did not know why they stuck out like that.

Beside those images materialized even more, and this time they were "real" scenes, and he watched another version of himself get all lovey-dovey with Kanon in school as Shiori watched around the corner of the hallway, and then it dissolved and this time it was a vengeful Kanon who clutched her ever-ready tazers as she hid behind a shelf while he and Shiori shared an intimate moment at her desk in the library.

"Haha, look at that Katsuragi! Playing with two hearts at once, who knew that Otamega had it in him?" He heard a voice that somehow reminded him of Chihiro.

"Damn that Katsuragi! Kill him! How dare he defile our Kanon-chan like that? Kill!"

"Man, I feel sorry for Shiomiya-san, I mean she didn't have enough opportunities to speak up before, so she'd have probably not gotten to know people, and yet she found a boyfriend, but now she finds out he's left her for Kanon? What do you suppose she did wrong?"

"Must've not p** ***t for the Otamega. . ."

"So clearly, your mind _protests_ going down this path, as your principles dictate it to be. Do **you **know that there's a way to confirm if these treacherous second-thoughts you are having are merely a part of **you **second-guessing?" And Keima found himself asking.

"It's simple. **You just fuck them."**

**"**Ahbu-bu-bwhat?" Keima stuttered, flabbergasted by the suggestion. "That's. . . direct of you." He cleared his throat. "But that's not the issue here! What kind of a suggestion is that? That's way out there in the list of suggestions for this dilemma, if there was one in the first place! Do you think me some sort of sex-fiend or something?"

"**You **fuck them hard, fuck them senseless, make those helpless bodies yours, and _their _hearts are sure to follow. Do it _one _at a time at first, then when you're sure they are under _your _thrall, then introduce them to each other for _interesting _results. The backlash of your worry will have _ceased_ to exist."

"Stop, stop! That's a ridiculous proposition! That's definitely out!"

"But you're familiar with the concept, right? **You **are _certainly_ no virgin, in the traditional sense. You've seen it _all _before, a _thousand _times before."

"Those don't count! And I don't even watch them properly, I just skip them altogether!" Damn, he was definitely blushing now.

"I know," the voice muttered, and here Keima didn't hear the words. "And curse **you **for not doing so."

"What was that?" Keima demanded, his hackles raised now.

"Merely _suggesting _that it won't be _that _bad. I think even your _devil_ friend won't find it horrifying, at the least."

"Are you out of your mind? That she-devil will be the worst of the bunch! Anyway, this conversation is over. It's taken a weird turn, and I don't want this dream to end on the unpleasant side."

"But I brought _pictures_!" Here, Keima turned a terror-stricken eye to the new images that came, different scenes showing in vivid detail his imagined indiscretions with either Kanon or Shiori. There were even some in the style of the H-scenes in games, and Keima was ashamed to realize those were the ones his eyes sought the most.

"Argh!" Uttering a last cry of protest, Keima shut his eyes, willing them to open into the waking world. He thought he could hear the sounds now, as sleazy music drowned his hearing in a din and he could almost imagine the voices, ones of heated desire and abject longing, and he was then and there afraid for his dignity. And so he left.

The mist-wreathed figure was left in the midst of all these, and upon realizing that Keima had left, sighed, "As expected of him, to _run _from his desires." It looked at the images once more and chortled. "And we didn't even get to the threesome parts yet. . .

"That _nii-sama, _always a spoilsport. _Why _can't he be more _responsible?"_

That morning Keima awoke, and he thought he had dreamed of something definitely unpleasant, because he had the strongest urge to do "it" then and there.

OoOoOoOo

_Nobody understood them._

That was true, and they knew it. Shiori had understood all along, ever since she was a little girl and she wanted to join in the playground, but they said she was weird because she was a fast memorizer, and others would laugh at her for being the teacher's pet, and she had borne it all silently, the words drying out in the air as soon as she opened her mouth. and Shiori had long since dried her silent cheeks, the pain gone but not forgotten. Kanon had known, ever since she'd turn down guys who'd confessed to her in middle-school, and everyone had then labeled her a weirdo, and no one would talk to her, no one would pay attention to her, and she hated that, and now that everyone did, it seemed that they weren't looking at her, but at something that wasn't her.

_Nobody would ever understand them._

Shiori volunteered for library work when she entered high school, because she knew that was the only place for her. The library was her sanctuary, where books of all shapes and contents were placed, where she could read to her heart's content, hiding behind the shelves arrayed like ancient ruin-walls unearthed from the dust. She didn't complain when duties were placed on her, when the responsibility would fall on her shoulders; as long as she had a book by her side, she would be happy. She had realized long ago that without these, she'd be nothing.

Kanon liked to sing sometimes. She also loved to dance, but she was sure she'd be having awkward moves if it weren't for her dance tutor. But what Kanon really wanted was for people to see her, like her. Not just in the simplest forms of like, but _like _like. Deep down, she desired to charm people, holding a certain kind of power over them. And so she accepted becoming an idol, even if it was hard work and her career would be power-jumped before she could even graduate. It was far better than being invisible, sitting at the back of the class while everyone else seemed to forget her. Better to be on a billboard than part of the wall attached.

"_Not bad. But there's a certain kind of _presence _you seem to be lacking."_

"What? You're complaining an awful lot, Keima-kun." Kanon pouted, as she placed the mini-microphone down on the bench beside him. The crisp afternoon breeze wafted over them and Kanon shivered, though it wasn't that cold. She rubbed her gloved hands together.

"I can't help it. My standards are certainly quite high, you know. You wouldn't know it from looking at me, of course. I guess you're not the idol you were. . ."

There. There it was again, the challenge. Kanon would vow to prove him wrong, and he'd laugh good-naturedly but tiredly, welcoming it, not ever complaining about her pestering him all day, and only complaining that she wasn't really up in his eyes.

He didn't look at her with the star-struck gaze of one who sees something famous, nor with eyes gleaming with hidden diamonds, calculating the value she would bring. Keima gazed at her with the frankness of a boy who has an annoying girl friend.

"Alright then, I'll start from the top!" She turned on the beatbox once more. He was definitely looking at her more now, more open and . . . happy? It made her heart race to know that she'd done a part of it. Goodness knows he certainly didn't seem that way when they were in class, a time when he wouldn't want to look at her. Everyone treated him like a snake that had come in their midst, and when they weren't going out of their way to avoid him, they spoke things about him in venomous whispers.

"_You know, in a way, we are kindred spirits."_

Keima explained to a puzzled Shiori how they both liked the pocket worlds that were in their hands, while, admittedly Keima loved his little stories and Shiori her grand ones. Shiori didn't think that it had anything to do with the "real" her companion spoke of, she just didn't want to have anything to do with people, preferring to keep her views to herself.

Kindred spirits, huh? She thought.

It's amazing how so much of what she wanted to say raced frantically in her mind, unspoken, as thought after thought fought to evaporate each other in her brain without being spoken out loud. As Keima talked, she would flush, thinking on the term kindred and finding the truth in it, because it was true, people who kept their selves to themselves were kindred in a way, and she knew her Keima wanted to watch stories unfold like sopa-operas in front of his screen as he read down at it, and she also so preferred reading of a mysterious mystery unravel in front of her, their denizens seeming so much more real than the figures that walked like ghosts around her, and she remembered feeling morose whenever Keima wasn't around, the only one who seemed to her a bright beacon in all this insanity, and yes she still heard that weird music whenever he was around, it struck out in the silence of the library, and one time she remembered mentioning it to him, and he had laughed and jokingly wondered if she would not be averse to reading his stories now, but Shiori knew better, Shiori knew, what exactly her companion read, and she had to wonder at that, why was he paying so much attention to her, she'd never asked, never brought up the question again like so many things, and it drove her up her inner walls to wonder what he might think of her, this little weirdo who can't seem to have anything to say, how he treated her silence and filled up the awkward gaps with his own jokes, musings and one-way conversations, how she wished she could talk once, just once, hold a sustained conversation, perhaps talk about the impending-

"Shiori-san?" Keima asked concernedly. She blinked, lucidly remembering that he'd said something about "kindred" stories and she wiped a hand disappointedly over her head when she found she couldn't find a coherent word.

"Would you rather I talk to you about that A-V section? I seem to be boring you with all my talks."

She shook her head, again as she'd always done when he apologized like that, grinning foolishly. No, she was the one at fault here, she was the flawed one, the half-heard the Unheard, the whisper-that-never-was, and here he was wasting his time on her when he had his own time and things to deal with.

"Um . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . "

Keima-kun raised his eyebrows as she beckoned him closer. He leaned his head in and she touched ("_she touched!_") it and tilted its ear close to her and she also leaned in, her mouth forming the words she wanted to say.

". . . . I . . . . . . . . . . . .l. . . . . . . . li . . . . . . . . . . . . like . . . . . . . . "

That was as far as Keima could get before Shiori stood up suddenly, scraping the chair backwards in a noisy clatter, her entire face reddening like a red apple as she fled.

_Yet now, someone understands me/us/me. Keima-kun me/us/me, Keima-kun is-_

OoOoOoOo

" . . . .out of your hell-damned mind?" Hakua shouted, the briefing papers she'd held in her hands tossed up to the air from an involuntary motion.

"Hell-damned, huh?" The Capturing God wondered to himself before crossing his arms, his ready battle-stance set up to weather the incoming tempest.

"The _same time. _You want to capture the targets at the same time." Hakua repeated, her breaths coming out strong and huge.

"Is there something hard to comprehend? It's not that hard."

"Wait, so let me clarify. You're absolutely sure you're able to accomplish this. No 'maybe's, no 'when the situation calls for it' nonsense. You, as a buddy who has leashed a devil to himself ("Hey, I protest that-")- shut up and listen. You are telling me you can free their runaway spirits on the same hour of the same day." She enunciated, making her words very clear.

"Well, not within the same hour-"

"Commoner!" She exclaimed in a dangerous tone.

"I do have to be realistic, you know. There's travel time involved between the two targets. In Kanon's case, there might be some fallout if she's going to have her concert." He saw her start to pace around with a certain fervor, a certain nervousness.

"But you're absolutely sure you can do it in a day."

"Oh yes, stop making me repeat myself. Provided the two react in the way I predict them to react. It's a ninety-percent chance, but I'm sure it can be done. I've already seen their endings."

"It seems very risky." Keima glanced at Hakua. "Well, the main concerns do include the travel time between the targets, and the runaway spirits that will come. But those are your ends of the contract, so I assume . . . "

He assumed the devil had her own thoughts as she didn't seem to be paying attention to him now. She glanced distractedly at her scythe that hung from the room's wall, then down to the sheets, frowning. Then she put her hand to the skull ornament on her head and her face tightened, before looking at the disordered sheets around her (Keima didn't bother, it wasn't his turn to clean up the house yet) and shaking her head.

"We have to have a plan for this, of course." she said uncertainly.

"And it has to adhere to my schedule."

"Very well. Let me- give me a minute to contact my superiors." Hakua sighed in a fatalistic manner, before shooing him brusquely out of her room.

"Hakua?"

"Yes, something to add?" She looked at him expectantly, with eyes that told of stress. Her hair hadn't been combed after her bath and strands now stuck out in places. He couldn't believe that the high-strung proud devil would look so vulnerable, after all this time.

"Trust me, that's all."

They both looked impassively at the other, before Hakua muttered something and nodded, pushing him out of the room.

Outside in the darkened hallway, Keima put a hand to his PFP and headed past his bedroom door to the bathroom, after making sure his mother was still tucked in sleep.

Inside in the room, Hakua leaned tiredly against the door, stopping herself from almost sagging to the door and looking again at her scythe. "Truly, I thank you commoner."

OoOoOoOo

"She wants to what?" Nora spat out her tonnic. The other specialists eyes her with embarrassment. "I beg your pardon, Section Chief Dokuru, sir, but are you sure?-"

"My hearing – like I even have ears, hah!- didn't lie, specialist Leoria." Dokuru gazed up at her at their training room. As usual, Nora couldn't find anything to discern in the hollowed-out skull, merely the faintest light that glimmered inside his eye-sockets.

"Naturally, of course, I made sure she was set for this action. For any one member to tackle two runaway spirits alone is a most unusual and daunting task. I told her I would at first inform my fellow section chiefs, and then you." Nora thought hard on that. What was so important about this that needed the other section chiefs of Hell to be informed.

"Before you ask, the section chiefs mostly advised caution, but are, as usual, letting each Section handle its own affairs. And now I pass it onto you, and request your input on this." Dokuru looked into each face one at a time.

"With all due respect, sir," Nora protested, striking preemptively. "Member Hakua is in my opinion, still relatively inexperienced in fighting Runaway Spirits. Her track record only accounts for two live successful captures, and we all know experience trumps whatever simulated fights she's had."

The other specialists looked at each other. Surely she, as a member who'd only caught one, couldn't compare? Only one of them had outstripped Member Hakua by one count, but that was over a period of twenty human months, compared to her admittedly impressive two months.

"Your concern is noted," Dokuru said. He looked at the others. "Anything else? No? Good, now specialist Nora, everyone has to poke their hand into fire sometimes. It's hot, it burns the unexperienced, but it's the only way to teach. You all are the primary reason why I haven't sent a squad of specialists up to Majima already; you're to be her backup in case she fails. If she does not, then you will serve as witnesses for and learn from how she subdued the spirits. You will all, in all likelihood, enter battle with multiple spirits in the future, and thus you shall learn then. This is a chance for Hakua to shine, and it is completely in her hands how it will turn out."

Nora gritted her teeth. That upstart was getting support from even the Section Chief? It was absurd, what made that flat-chested devil more interesting than her? She was more perfect, in many ways other than breast-size. As she began to weave a plan with the other specialists, she imagined standing over a cowering Hakua, her figure resplendent and glorious. _Next time, Hakua. _She fumed. _Next time, I will-_

For his part, Dokuru departed after seeing that the specialists had begun their plan, signalling for his assistants after reaching his temporary office.

"Could you please arrange an S-security travel connection to Majima City, Japan, Far Eastern Section for me? Yes, log it in. Oh yes, I can wait. I can wait for _millennia, _I'm that patient_. _Thank you, that will be all."

OoOoOoOo

An attack ripped past her defenses, gouging a wound in her arm that healed almost instantly, though the clothing wasn't spared. Hakua grimaced, she was already slowing down.

No matter the demon, one could not handle such an extreme inflow of power unfit for one's basic frame without tiring. It was like trying to fill tonnic into a leaking container, sooner or later, it would all run out, leaving the host dry.

It was exactly what was happening here, Hakua had long realized. She'd taken so long in trying to weaken the beasts with impressive spellwork and flashy cantrips, that she hadn't taken into account actual damage done. There was no way of knowing by looking at them, they still looked shadowy and furious as they were when they began. And her sensor had been destroyed, the skull ornament fragmenting into so many pieces when she'd stupidly allowed herself to come into range to deal an attack up close with her scythe.

Hakua now had second thoughts, this was no glorious battle, this was a beatdown. Whoever was beating who was up to interpretation.

But Hakua didn't want to be the beaten. She raised her faithful weapon of office, now glowing dully, as if reflecting the condition of its wielder, and filled it with red runes of ira. The second spirit flew circles around her, waiting to strike like a bird of prey, while the first was still reeling on the ground from her earlier counter-attack. It would recover soon.

The second lunged, unseen talons ready to skewer her, and Hakua stood her ground, floating a few feet away from the side of the school building. She felt a gush of her lifeblood spill from her caught leg at the moment she dodged, as the beast plunged its claws into the building, shrieking and hooting all the while. _I'm definitely slowing down, _she thought, feeling the wound close.

Just then, she felt her danger senses rise, and a quick look back caused her to hesitate in striking the trapped spirit as the first flew up screeching, apparently willing to sandwich her in between. There was no time now, except to-

OoOoOoOo

"It's time, the rehearsal's supposed to begin now! Where on earth is Nakagawa?" Similar shouts were raised all around, as word spread around the crew that their featured idol had disappeared. There was genuine panic, though the reasons differed from the manager to the errand-boy.

Far in a park somewhere, Kanon was begging for her driver to give her a little bit more time, despite his protests and the constant ringing of his cellphone. Heck, he was sure he'd get in trouble for it somehow.

"Keima-kun! There you are." She ran up, stopping to catch her breath.

"Huh, Nakagawa-san? You're. . . early." Keima looked up from his drawing pad in surprise.

"So are you," she pointed out. "I'm told it's going to be a long rehearsal, so I won't be able to make it tonight. I wanted to tell you about it. I had a hunch you'd be here, and I was right! So anyway, what were you doing?"

"Eh," Keima shrugged, shoving the pad out of sight. "Just sketching something. So now what? You can go on ahead, I'll still be sitting here for some time. At least I know I won't have to wait-" he stopped, suddenly looking up at her. Coughing in embarrassment, he averted his eyes from Kanon.

For Kanon, the revelation sent her heart racing, her mind running across the possibilities. She so wanted to know, to guess what thoughts Keima-kun had for her, whethe they were simply of acquaintance, or friendship, or-

She shook her head. She looked towards where she'd left her driver, before plunging a hand into her bag and pulling out a piece of paper. "Hey Keima-kun," she began, calling his attention to herself. "I've got a song I made up by myself, and I wasn't sure what the tone should be. Would you be willing to hear it? You'd be first to hear, again."

"Go ahead." He smiled faintly. "I'm all ears."

OoOoOoOo

"This is crucial, _pay attention, _Katsuragi! This is infinitely more important than your game at the moment!" Hakua said, as they stood in the park where he said was where Kanon would turn up.

"I doubt anything would be more important than games to me," Keima said, "But please, continue."

"Well," she huffed. "Assuming all goes well here, and the idol does show up as intended, you may use this transport rune to take you to the school quick. All you have to do is press down with your skin, as I've keyed it to react to you specifically." She pointed to a strange symbol etched onto the trunk of a tree, and to anyone it looked like a highly unusual piece of vandalism.

"So you made it?" Keima said distractedly. "Knowing you so well, how will I know it won't blow up in my face?"

"It won't!" Hakua shouted. "You can trust me on that. You'll have to trust me on that, since a cantrip of this nature blowing up means your entrails scattered all around the world. I wouldn't be surprised if they somehow ended up in Hell."

Keima shivered. That was ominous, coming from the devil. Still, it was the only way he could return from here to the school in a flash, and the two of them knew, through a step-by-step discussion of their plans, that time was the essence here. The spirits had to be released as close as possible to each other for the plan to work, Hakua had emphasized, because that was the only way to safely confine them.

"Why not capture them one at a time?" he had asked. Hakua had shook her head. "_You _were the one who wanted to capture them on the same day. If, say you released one while you took your time getting the other out, the second one might be able to escape while I'd still be occupied with the first."

"And you can't handle that?"

Hakua had frowned, and Keima saw she was actually thinking seriously. "To be completely honest with you, Katsuragi, I cannot." They locked gazes.

"It's nice to see you be humbled for once."

"I'm sure you'd stand to be taken down some notches too," she'd retorted.

"If ever that happened," Keima had said in a hushed town. "The world would end as we know it."

OoOoOoOo

Shiori stood with head bowed, her hand on the windowsill as she watched the sunlight slowly fade and the shadows gradually lengthen.

Her eyes were troubled. It was dark inside the library, and no one else seemed to be around, even at this time.

There was an incessant banging on the main library door, and she studiously ignored that, choosing instead to gaze out the window.

She sighed.

There was a loud crackling sound, and the room was briefly illuminated by a strange glow.

Shiori squeaked a cry of surprise, looking wildly around the deserted library.

"Knew I'd find you in here."

Keima-kun?

"I was surprised to see the library was locked, so I initially thought the worst. But now that I think on it, I guess I was just worrying for nothing."

What are you doing here?

"What are you trying to do, Shiori-san? Is this the answer you've ended up with?"

I didn't need you to see this, You shouldn't be here!

"For you to have become so drastic . . ."

No, you wouldn't understand, I needed to do this!

_Please understand!_

"Well, I guess that's one thing about you that hasn't changed," Keima shrugged, beckoning her over to the desk. Outside, the rest of the library's staff were raising hell trying to get in, which he doubted as he'd had Hakua hide the keys so that even the teachers couldn't get in. And just for measure, he'd sabotaged the electrical systems with Hakua's own magic beforehand, rendering the library a veritable fortress. There would be no way out except-

He looked down at Shiori, who looked up at him with myriad expressions dancing in her face, yet never finding concrete way through her words.

Words were an important part of-

She seemed to remember reading that from somewhere.

"Come, I'll at least keep you company while you're besieged."

He reached out a hand, and she took it.

OoOoOoOo

She lashed out with a basic defensive cantrip, briefly illuminating the battlefield with an intensely bright light. The two recoiled in shock, dazzled or merely shocked, she didn't care, as she made her swift retreat to a further place.

Her entire body stung from the anathemic magic that swirled through her in the aftermath of that spell. What she had cast was something that should only be used during the most dire of circumstances, because it was a borrowed Word from Heaven. And she had used it then, one of the few spells she'd learned over her researches in the archives, using up much of her spare time decrypting and translating the unknown runes (she had gotten a little help from her mentor, Lord Kiseth)

Frankly, she had never done it before. She didn't know how foreign magic worked and wasn't that curious enough to try it out, only knowing its basic properties from the way the spell was worded, which was enough for her to choose it from among the other few she'd learned.

She'd made her distraction. What now? Her mind raced with the fundamentals of the plan, going over it again and again, recreating and rejecting scenarios, restating objectives, searching frantically for the solution.

Think: they were all in a containment bubble. Enemies show no signs of being weakened.

Hakua snapped her fingers, and she hurled raw hellfire that homed in on the beasts with unerring speed, and after they impacted in a blaze of flames, she saw the spirits rise, struggling to hold their form, yet basically unhurt.

Her hands hurt now, she felt, from casting that high-level spell. The power was rapidly decaying in her body, and she knew that if it took longer she would leak it all out, and if she was drained dry she wouldn't be able to even summon even a measly fireball to hold them off. She'd be a veritable demon feast for the spirit scum.

Summoning her resolve, she clutched the tattered remnants of her raiment, along with her worn weapon of office and stood to full height.

What had Katsuragi said? She didn't know why or what she was trying to recall that.

OoOoOoOo

"Not bad, not bad," Keima clapped. "Can I criticize you now?"

"You still find something to criticize? That song was for you, you know?"

"Exactly. It's flawed precisely because it's a song for me. Honeestly, Kanon-san, why on earth would you craft a song purely for a someone like me?" He stood up suddenly, looming over her, a powerful presence now, distinctly different from before.

"Wh-what are you-"

"And here I am struggling with these feelings." Keima wrung his hands. "Ah, I don't like it!" He rubbed his head vigourously.

"Kanon-san, who am I to you, really?"

"Eh? A fr-friend, someone I can talk to without-" Kanon stuttered.

"No, really Kanon-san. What does this Katsuragi Keima have for you?" he demanded, his eyes showing a frightened vulnerability.

"Mou! Why are you asking me these things now? I just want to know what you thought about that song!"

"That song was frightfully horrid, and only a true amateur would have had the gall to write it. The chosen tune was off, and the singer certainly isn't that far off from being a little bit toneless. But overall, since it was _you _who sang it Kanon-san, I can't find fault in it? Why is that? Why?"

"So you mean you didn't like it?. . . ."

"No, I did like it!" Keima shouted to the skies. "I like it very muuuuuch!

"But that's not the point, Kanon-san, please see this. I've been working on it since last night." He showed her the drawpad that he'd hidden from him. On the first page was hastily drawn a childish looking caricature of a girl, with mismatched wings sprouting from her back, and pointed stars arrayed all around her. Kanon thought she could see a resemblance to her.

"Kanon-san."

She looked down, and nearly jumped back upon seeing Katsuragi kneel down in front of her.

OoOoOoOo

Hakua started weaving the last strands of magic she had together, forming a pattern as a tailor might sew together a bolt of cloth. She felt arrays form and click together in her mind as she beheld, almost in slow motion, the two runaway spirits leap hungrily at her.

She met their charge.

OoOoOoOo

"Look, Shiori-san, look at all these girls parading in front of me, dancing to my tune and singing my praises as I pass them before my hands like worn chess pieces, plucking each one from their destined paths like the prudent gardener.

"It makes me look evil, does it not? I seem a master manipulator, since all that is placed before me are choices, and these worlds will conform to my choices.

"They also have their stories, Shiori-san. Even as a Third-Eye, I cannot just interfere in their pocket lives without myself being involved, and I find myself carried away into their little intrigues.

"And from those spring stories. Many, many stories as can be found in your books. Some even teach, a little, of things to know about like some of your books.

"You look like you want to ask where this is going. Very well, I'll cut straight to it.

"What every one here shares, is their capacity to speak with me, in a voice that is theirs.

"All their hidden troubles, their concerns, their joys, their frustrations, their inner and outer thoughts . . .

"It is not as if I am imagining conversations before me like in books. These little ones speak to me as if they are real, as if they're alive, as if they truly exist.

"If they did not talk, then their hearts would inevitably be locked away inside their shells. If no one at all spoke for them when their silence prevented them, then they are doomed. The word is their blessing, even if sometimes, it is a hindrance. Silence is still golden, after all (and in the library most of all).

"And that is, I think, the integral part, Shiori-san. I. . . like you just the way you are. But even so, I cannot-" Keima bit his lip, even as they huddled together in the darkness. Shiori felt a shudder pass through her as she felt Keima-kun's warmth suffuse her, his heartbeat so near it could have resonated with her own. He leaned his head closer and she found herself suddenly mesmerized by the action, focusing on his-

"This is my unspoken emotion. Allow me to, or do you not want this?" he murmured. . .

OoOoOoOo

The mist-wreathed figure glanced up. The crooked tower rose impotently above the whiteness that choked the senses.

Up above there was _something, _and the figure was sure that a storm was coming. Perhaps the winds would blow away some of the mist.

OoOoOoOo

Unescorted despite his important position, the Section Chief of the Far Eastern Sector emerged from a secure transport exit, immediately casting a disguise on himself upon seeing the bustling streets of Majima.

He looked around to where the containment dome should be. He had a gut feeling that the battle would be ending soon. Nonchalantly, he travelled there, immediately materializing on top of specialist Nora's position.

The devil was ablaze with energy, her form transcended temporarily into something terrible. The jaws clenched upon seeing Dokuru arrive, and it split into a sharky grin. "Sir. Member Hakua has yet to give the signal."

"It will come." He glanced at the dome. "It will be ending soon enough. And with it, possibly a new beginning."

OoOoOoOo

"Will you be. . . my idol?"

_What kind of a question is that?_

" . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . "

She looked up/down at him.

They saw eternity in his eyes.

They closed theirs.

OoOoOoOo

He looked up. Gone was the second, and the library was literally in ruins. He softly dragged Shiori's body to a safe place, away from the debris. It was a gentler handling than the way he'd done Kanon.

He still felt strange from that. Heck, he felt strange from the both of them, at the same time. _Well, no time to think about that now. It's all the devil's turn anywho. _Speaking of which, how would he be able to see her battle now? He was mildly curious, and the devil hadn't given him any idea how.

Keima felt a strange prickling sensation on his back. He started horribly and turned on the spot and looked down.

"Who the heck are you?"

OoOoOoOo

Hakua opened her eyes. Floating high above her were the tattered remnants of the spirits, struggling to reform after being nearly blown to bits by her- gambit, was it?

She realized that she was falling, hot magic coursing through her – an aftereffect of the backlash that racked her system. It was supposed to be an agonizing experience, but strangely she felt a chilling cold cold rush through her veins instead of the predicted searing pain.

She looked up and saw the containment dome start to close, the double-purposed intent finally finding its use. It would trap all beings weaker than it inside it and contain their power.

She realized with a dull jolt that it would include her.

She felt her vision dim. She couldn't feel her limbs anymore, and she didn't know where her weapon of office was anymore.

Hakua closed her eyes.

OoOoOoOo

Keima opened his eyes. The amulet's sudden burning had eroded his senses until the only thing he felt at those moments was intense, unrelievable pain, nearly biting his tongue because of it. He wondered why the creature hadn't done anything other than watch him curiously, since after he'd recovered his vision, tears blurring the edges, he'd seen the skull-figure still standing in the same position as beore.

"So it has ended," the creature said.

"What's ended?" Keima spluttered, clutching at the white-hot thing in his chest. It still hadn't cooled.

"Do you remember what we discussed before?"

"About," Keima winced in pain, "about the way the contract could be cancelled?" He whimpered as another, weaker wave of pain radiated from the accursed amulet.

"Yes, it is simple." The robed figure procured a dagger. It looked unremarkable save for a single teardrop-shaped red rune at the handle. "You shall have to eliminate the devil who has contracted with you. You see, Katsuragi Keima, when devils are weakened enough from whatever cause, yet not weakened enough to face oblivion yet, they undergo a retrogressive stage. They devolve into pure essence – sentient - but still bodiless. It usually happens when severe injuries have been incurred." the figure explained.

"Now in this case, the Soul Casket has been attuned to your partner, and wisely she has used it as her last backup plan, allowing her essence to be pulled back inside it if something happened to her. Now the simplest solution for you arises. If you so wish, you can take this weapon, stab it through the amulet, and free yourself from future obligation altogether. What do you say?"

Keima Katsuragi, Capturing God, frowned. Who was this creature to offer such advice now, of all times? He was still reeling from that sudden attack from the demented amulet, and his mind was still tired from the aftermath of the conquests, a long and arduous process with the devil that had finally culminated in this. So many late nights, so many games backlogged to lead to this joint conclusion.

But still . . .

Keima stared at the dagger for a bit before taking it. He tested its weight hesitantly, before taking expert swings and thrusts. He raised an eyebrow and took out the offending amulet. If it could steam, it would have; it was just that hot to the touch.

Keima grasped the dagger. A million thoughts swarmed in him, confused and jumbled. He closed his eyess.


	14. Imaginary Chapter 3: Tundra Dojo I

He swung the dagger down.

Keima sighed once before opening his eyes once more.

Now he was confused. What was happening?

It was like he was in a dream, inside that surrealist painting that made no sense, and everything was pliable and flexible and malleable.

He felt like he was being dragged, like a lump of meat taken prisoner, behind a horse, strung by his ankles.

He slept feverish dreams,

He would awake, and the surrounding had disappeared, and the walls all closed around him. Around him there were many jeers and calls and boos.

Afraid, Keima ran and ran to where the exit should be. Some figures robed in white stood there, barring his path.

He became angry, and struck. His fist connected with cold, hard stone.

He slept feverish dreams.

Now he saw himself seeing, as if perched on the shoulder of someone like a loyal falcon, many hideous things grovelling before him. He wanted to move his legs, but found that he could not.

There was a harsh cackle near him, and he strained to look around for where it was.

Then he was sailing through the air, and he felt his arms rise, unheeded, glowing white and red and yellow and many colors besides.

"Oh yes, I _do _remember **you, **old _friend. _How fortunate for me to _meet _you in this place, after all this time.

"Come, **you** _must_ meet your former protege! I remember it was only centuries ago . . . "

Keima struggled to find the source of the voice, but found that he could not.

He slept feverish dreams.

He felt himself falling, falling down and down into a deep dark, darkened deep where nothing was, and nothing will ever be.

OoOoOoOo

OoOoOoOo

OoOoOoOo

AN: And thus it is ended.

Well, not really, it's just that I'd only written up to this point. This was all the work of an antire September afternoon, almost as soon as I saw the images on my girlfriend's screen and was reminded of the novel idea presented by the manga series.

I'm afraid to say there will probably will be no continuation from this point, even if I did have my computer with me already. It is stuck in a cliffhanger, sure, it must be really frustrating. But be assured that the plot has been fully mapped out in my brain. (If you've noticed, there's still a lot of loose ends) It's just that the story isn't a priority, as when I will be getting that computer I'll be focusing more on _Anarchy _more than anything.

Now, to the story. This little fic was born out of two mutual interests of mine combining into one: VN gaming and a manga with a genre-savvy protagonist. Primarily I'm a VN sort of guy, as my girlfriend could attest, and I always find time to mooch off her laptop to read the latest hot stuff. The fic was entirely prompted by a chain of thought that started from Elsie's statement that Weiss would be reincarnated if they were still inside a woman's body when they bore children. That plus the interesting segues into familiar Hell mythology as the plot of the manga progressed. As a side-note, I'd only read up to the shogi girl's arc, so I wouldn't know how the plot has progressed thus far, whether there have been newer elements of Hell that has cropped up that would have had the potential to intersect with my story, or new elements of Heaven – I just havent' have the time and will have to rely on either my girlfriend or you, faithful readers, whoever you are to provide me with details.

Initially I wanted to preserve the status quo so to speak, by introducing an OC and keeping Elsea as a partner. But then that afternoon must've seen a freak wind blow, as I soon had the idea of having Hakua and Keima team up. Their clashing personalities would make for an interesting dynamic, and I tried to preserve as much of both of their personalities as I wrote the story. (Tell me what you think) And also, introducing an OC might have been detrimental to the plot, as there'd me one more character to develop and keep track of, a character that doesn't have an "image" so to speak, that's developed from the canon manga.

Lastly, I shall now be reading the reviews, as per usual when I conclude a fic, and I shall respond here in a future edit when I feel like responding. To concurrent _Anarchy _readers, please don't despair. I realize it's been a year since I reactivated my writing cravings, but that story will be finished, even if the world ends. So says Merlin!

I shall bid you a Happy Valentine's and here's to the birth of more computers! (that are cheaper)

Merlin out.

Vivian's note: Merlin gave me this last chapter to publish right before Valentine's Week, instructing me to time it on the exact 14th. However I delayed it to wait for more reviews, to see how people reacted to his work. As there's been nothing and the author would've been suspicious if he were to look in my laptop, the snoop, I'm forced to put it up despite my misgivings. Tsk. Tsk.

Hopefully he'll allow me to publish my stories under his account name.

Just watch if the author profile name suddenly gets reversed, nishishishi~


	15. Interlude VI: Beyond the ENDings

_The boy snorted, tossing back the dagger without care._

_"Why should I need to 'eliminate' a troublesome devil . . . "_

_He cupped the bare emerald, teardrop-shaped amulet between two hands, rubbing it like a magic lamp of a Thousand Nights. _

_". . . when I can do everything in my power to her in this state. So she's in here, huh?"_

_The boy grinned down at the amulet with a sadistic hunger, evidently thinking evil thoughts, but it seemed impotent and untrue._

_Katsuragi turned to look back, but found no trace of the being in the darkened ruins of the library. _

Neo-Hellian Almachina was a typical portable pastime that many devils were familiar with. It was a game played between two players, on two adjacent circular boards with a blind boundary placed between. Each player would have three or more equal number of pieces to play with. Each player would then use these pieces to attack an area where they thought the other had placed theirs, hoping to eliminate a piece there in the process.

The game represented a battle between Neo Hellians and Old Hell.

That was what common demons of today knew anyway. A pastime for idle moments, a battle of luck and wits, as Specialist Nora, his current enemy and the rest of the specialists thought. Just a little game.

To Dokuru Skull, and to some other remnants who yet remembered Old Hell, the new, toned-down game was a caricatured reminder of bloodier games before. Of those he would but tell the littlest half-truths, shrouded with a mystique that made the younger devils assume instead of ask further. No one _really _wanted to know what the magi represented, or what a pseudo-turn really meant, or if one could fire off magics so blindly as in the game.

The key to the game, as many rightly thought, was in knowing how to read one's opponent. How one would react to having his piece get a narrow escape, or if their piece was destroyed would give a brief glimpse on the type of devil the other was. And to a devil, sometimes that one glimpse was enough.

But since everyone eventually thought of winning this way, the games naturally devolved into a type of staring contest as each player guessed this attack or that, barely trying to rein their own expressions in while desperately watching and understanding the other's.

Admittedly, it was hard to display emotion if one's head were a literal skull, and only the briefest flares of light in the sockets gave the impression that Dokuru existed. Were it not for that, he would be mistaken as one of the squad's own detection devices, which sat by the multitudes on every member's head. The sockets considered the multicolored circle in front of him, on which three figures were strategically set. His magi was damaged, and it was Nora's pseudo-turn. The self-proclaimed genius looked smug, but cautious. She didn't stop staring at her superior.

Outside their little cubbyhole of a conference room, the skyscape of Hell smouldered, muted flashes of light illuminating the ever-troubled sky. Now and then there were brighter flashes of neon, casting a rainbow glow on the devils' faces and making them seem lively, but these soon dimmed into dullness. This travel hub was one of those closest to the human world, magically speaking. Dokuru and the specialists had just returned from the human realm, and they whiled away their travel delay to the Far Eastern HQ on a Runaway Spirit squad official outpost in here with a mini-tournament of the game. No demon here denied it them because Dokuru was Section Chief, and this Section in effect, was his.

The machine was placed on top of the long, table-like surface, with Dokuru sitting on a chair on one side and his current opponent sitting on the other. The other specialists, some defeated in previous games, some awaiting their turns (for the outpost had only one game machine, regrettably), watched the game with a mixture of detached boredom and resigned tiredness. Some were writing up drafts of their full reports on their raiments, absently scratching places on their bodies where just recently, they'd had strange protrusions and growths that had faded after the spirits had been safely sealed.

The assortment of wings, horns and tails had faded after the initial trip to this travel hub, and Dokuru took the time to have each bewildered devil record their appearances on their raiments and submitted to him immediately. Each had stared in wonder at their temporary bodily changes (with the exception of Nora, who bore it all her usual pomp), probably thinking how such a transformation was possible. Then again, they were devils.

Nora luxuriously twirled a finger, calling out her next attack during her real turn - which missed any of Dokuru's pieces. He took the time to express relief on his voice as he announced the attack's failure, before clicking the button to "pause" the game. Nora made a sound that nearly sounded like a growl, though she did sit up properly as Dokuru turned his attention to the others.

"Specialist Nu-Faryun, what is the latest status of the two targets?" About two human days had passed since they had arrived at the hub, and about a week had transpired since they had left the human realm for Hell. Nora kept on staring dubiously at him. Dokuru flashed her a smile, then turned back his attention to Nu-Faryun.

A round-faced devil (whose head had transformed into a pumpkin-shape with devilish purple vines) cleared her throat, using her raiment to display a temporary screen. A series of different status images were displayed, before they tuned in to a news report stolen from a human TV station. The quality was dull and grainy, but the human speaking to the screen was distinct.

"As to the first, the human known as Nakagawa Kanon, there have been no relevant changes and no noticeable behavioral discrepancies that would indicate a reopening of the gap," the specialist said. The facts weren't all that unexpected; and realistically, secondary reports would be trumped by the strength of the Great Sensors. If there was a reopening, the magically imbued dishes would know first.

"Can you understand what that human's talking about?" asked one specialist who sat primly on a far chair (she had sprouted hideous carapaces and pincer claws), looking pointedly at the screen where the nervous-looking man yammered on about something.

"Let me pull out the translator index," said another devil, keying into her raiment with a few precise hand motions.

The single temporary screen bloomed and grew, unattaching itself from Nu-Faryan's raiment and rising to the center of the room, slightly above the game machine. The specialist drew up another screen, this time showing another image, this time of the so-called "library" that had been damaged in the second runaway spirit's release. A blanket memory modifier gas had been released into the school in the aftermath of the captures.

". . . _many fans are now wondering what could have ever happened to cause the normally cheerfuly Kanon much distress . . . "_

"Personality profiles gleaned from Member Hakua's reports are right on line with the surveillance we are having, and there has been no noticeable symptom of reopening. However it IS difficult to tell with these kinds of humans without a closer look." The specialist looked to her fellows. Nu-Faryun knew herself not to be good at human behavior. And by the looks on the others' faces, they weren't too.

"I think we can have Member Hakua confirm it for us," she stopped and added, "when she recovers." There were nods from the others before some of them looked back at the game.

"And what of Member Hakua herself? Are there any indications of danger?" Dokuru pointed his skull up at the floating screen, where there was a crowd of similarly dressed humans rallying and carrying effigies and small doll-figures of Nakagawa Kanon.

"She. . . hasn't reported in yet, so we would assume that she is still in the process of recovery. As to the latter, her replacement devil reports no new Spirit activity in her district. Though, there are concerns that some of the inquisitive imps have used the opportunity of being summoned to escape, as well as some reports of seal instability – she's had to close off most of them."

Dokuru made a humming sound. Nora snorted, (she had grown the traditional bat-wings and horns look), tossing her ample hair in the air, breaking the silence she'd imposed on herself since the game began. "How foolish of that devil to risk her corporeality for the sake of a capture. She should've been thinking of the consequences of her rash actions, and take responsibility! A true devil would have looked for alternatives! A true devil wouldn't have crippled herself willingly. And using those unsavory imps! Could she not have used her own power?"

"Now now," Dokuru lightly chided the bristling devil, who had been incensed that Hakua had actually succeeded in capturing two spirits at once – even if the specialists had lent a hand and she had risked her life towards the end of the operation. In spite of all that, Nora kept blaming Hakua's inexperience and poor judgement, going on and on about her faults loudly, something which the others bore with exasperated stoicism. "It was all Hakua's decision. I'm sure she understood the responsibilities her choices gave her. We shouldn't be dwelling on past successes, no, not even the failures. Here and now is our goal; you devils have no idea how much dwelling on the past will probably have you all thinking backward. Triumph and failure must be swallowed alike, like tonnic on a bad Hell-day. What matters now is that two Runaway Spirits are finally on their way to Hell, where they shan't trouble the mortal world anymore. And I believe that we as Runaway Squad members ought to value that fact."

Dokuru pressed the play button, ending his one-sided banter. A hush fell on the room. The game was restarted.

OoOoOoOo

"_Now, just now, I know that I'm happy, cause you're here with me. . . "_

"Hey hey, prez, do you got the latest scoop on Kanon-chan?"

"C'mon, we need it!"

A troop of students, mostly frothing boys but also some concerned girls surrounded Chihiro's desk, and she struggled to maintain the composure of her office against the horde. Truthfully, she hadn't brought her usual fix of magazines because she predicted this exact situation happening.

Finally shouting with some choice swear-words, she had the crowd back down, explaining that no, she did _not _have any further news about Kanon's latest funk.

"_. . . you, just you, is what I really need, and all the other thought means nothing to me. . ."_

"Do you really have to stop by the library?" Ayumi asked. She was still in her school uniform, as her club activities had been suspended because of necessary repairs to the field; the ground had been ripped up and becoming uneven and unusable by some freak occurence. With no upcoming match, their advisor had called off the practice, which irked Ayumi a little.

"Hey now, exams are coming up, y'know? What I can get in the library is free trivia, and it's probably just what I need to trump that idiot Otamega!" Chihiro grinned.

"Really, well I could use some sleep. _I _had a hard time studying for today's quiz." Ayumi yawned slightly and stretched her tired muscles. It wasn't that she was dumb, or stupid or stubborn when it came to class. She just didn't have time to focus on it after a hard afternoon's workout when all her limbs screamed at her as she plopped onto her bed.

"If that's hard for you, how're you supposed to trump the both of us when exams come? Not that you ever did, of course. . ." Chihiro continued off-handedly.

"Hey, that's cruel!"

"I'm just saying, hehe." the class president stuck her tongue out playfully, her hands held out in mock surrender.

Ayumi glanced with tired exasperation at her friend, thinking on her strange, one-sided rivalry with one Keima Katsuragi, the only one she could never beat. _Katsuragi . . . _Unconsciously, she clasped her fingers behind her as they walked to the library.

_"Love is the word I really need, cause all the other thought means nothing to me . . . "_

The library was currently undergoing some repairs to the roof and sections of the wall in some parts of the room, leaving piles of books stacked near the librarians' desks while the shelves were unusable. There was a constant hammering and screeching sound coming from the workers, who each looked bored somehow. One of them yawned.

The two friends gave the scene a cursory glance as they headed for the nearest desk.

A pair of eyes watched the work going on with a gloomy resignation from behind a nearby shelf. _They were being too slow! Meanwhile these books were in danger of being hopelessly thrown away! _There'd been talk of just converting the damaged space for the A-V section after it would be repaired.

She had firmly (and loudly) voiced her disapproval.

"Excuse me, you're a librarian here right?" Shiori turned, somehow suppressing the urge to yelp in surprise, to see two girls looking expectantly at her, one with an earnest glint in her eye.

"Uh, yes! Can I . . . . assist you in some way?" she squeaked. She almost wanted to reprimand the girl for being so loud, though she knew how useless that seemed with all the repairs going on. She stifled an urge to yawn. _All the worry was making her tired. _

"Yeah, would you happen to have some good recommendations for-"

"_. . . Cause all the other thought just makes me realize . . . ."_

_**"You lowly thrice-damned whelp. WHERE is the Lord of Change that brought you?"**_

"N-no, I was summoned by the mistress-" the darkness tightened around the imp's throat. "I speak truth! T-truth! Th-this unworthy one was summoned by the hated W-Word! No Great One summoned me!"

"_**If that were true, then why can you, a devil, afford to exist here? Has the Seal been lifted?" **_"It" demanded.

"S-seal? Th-this humble one knows of no s-seal. . ."

_**"How can any devil know not? Are you but newly spawned?"**_

"Yes, the mistress-"

The inquisitive imp ended up telling this presence everything. Afterwards, it found itself consumed.

"_**Poor fare, but it is flesh."**_The presence started to recede, its voice fading like the end of a bad song. **_ "Is it fortuitous then, that I awaken now? _****_. . ."_**

Aoyama Mio looked around. She was sure she'd heard a strange voice. The blonde thumbed her hair against her ear nervously when she saw the nearby alley, and grasping the sheafs of "now hiring" papers tightly to her chest, she ran, not wanting to risk an encounter with some lowlifes or worse at this time of day.

". . . ._By my side, by my side, by my siiiide, stay by my side, by my side. . . "_

"Non-chan! Kanon-chan! Kanon-ch-"

Their voices, which would have given her the energy to push through another performance, wear her throat raw for another advertisement, another voice-acting stint, her sleep diminished from late nights of planning with the manager and practices, or answering fan-mail and scribbling autographs; all those voices now seemed distant.

They worried. Her manager – even the entire crew - was worried. The loyal fans looked at her and it seemed like she'd been wheeled into the emergency ward of a hospital, preemptively diagnosed with a fatal illness. They feared for her, their idol, but they didn't dare go near her.

Last night, she'd fumbled with the microphone on stage, and her fans laughed it off together with her as she did a quick cute jig with her hips to appease their worry before going back on track. Her mind told her she was tired. Her heart, well-

That was problematic. There was nothing wrong with her heart, in the metaphorical sense. It only hurt once in a while when she passed by her beat-up beatbox in the corner of her dressing room, and she wondered what the new arrival was doing there; and it hurt a bit when she sat memorizing the lines to her new song, because when she asked who had written the lyrics, her manager had looked at her kind of oddly and said it was hers.

But it wasn't hers, as far as she could remember. When she put voice to the words, there was no familiarity there, just the same odd feeling she always felt when she sang her other songs, as if some ventriloquist had put the words in her mouth. But then the uneasy feeling would wash over her then, and then it would feel as if her heart were being pulled in many directions.

"_By my side, by my side, stay by my side_ . . . " she hummed, grinning and waving energetically at the cheering faces. The song was almost over, and she was determined not to screw it up.

" . . . _Tell me that you're mine, you always kiss me instead of lie . . . " _After all, it wasn't like she'd fallen in love or any other cliched thing right? Well, it wasn't like she was forbidden to go out with someone, but her manager had said it would be better if she didn't have one, for now. So, definitely not that. No way. She'd have known if that was the case, she convinced heself.

The last lines in the song number were accompanied by the music gradually slowing then stopping. She stopped her gestures and put the microphone close to her chest solemnly. ". . . _everything we went through'd be just a waste of our time . . So I'm writing this for you-" _

"Oh crap, did Nakagawa forget the lines again?" Kanon's manager silenced the tech crews with a glare. She stood and narrowed her eyes at the idol's image on the screen, which had seemingly stopped even as the music reached its conclusion. "It's no good, bring out the emcees, tell them to go on and do the-" She stopped and listened, as did the silent audience, when Kanon said the final words, her head bowed and her face veiled by her hair, and even the bright lights couldn't illuminate them.

"A_nd I'm writing this for me . . . and it's full of thanks and tears and a little bit full of you . . ." _No good, there it was again, like in the practice sessions, always that heart-wrenching chill and she didn't know WHY! "_This song will almost end, but that doesn't mean us too . . . "_ Tears shed and unshed dwelled on her eyes, and Kanon almost choked on the very last words, ending the song in a wet whisper

_" . . . well, just in case someday you come to me and say hi."_

OoOoOoOo

"It's like her light's diminished or something," said a man beside her. She ignored the bickerings of the rowdy boys next to her as she turned away from the images of Nakagawa Kanon's latest performance.

"The fuck- you going _deep_ on us again?" the uncouth-looking companion sniggered, then puckered up his nose like a pig, making a snuffling sound. "You sniffing the funny stuff or something?"

"Shut up, I'm just speaking from the heart, like Kanon-chan always says. I'm a fucking fan alright? She's been like that ever since. . ."

She walked purposefully, but dutifully away from the district, her long black hair billowing behind her like a cape. Her hands were clenched primly in the shape of a fist, as she had always been taught to do, her sleeved arms straight at her sides. .

She paused on her long walk home, stopping on a bridge where she leaned over the edge to watch a pair of cats play with each other on the grassy part underneath. She spent some time watching their little play.

As the sun sank even more determinedly into the west, she continued on her way. She saw a group of girls in the same uniform as hers cross the street some feet before her, and she frowned slightly when she saw them crossing into the seedier parts of the district.

"Hey cutie, wanna hang out with some cool guys?" Leers greeted her as she coldly walked past, coming from twisted, lecherous faces squinting at her body. At first, she ignored them, but-

"Now cutie, that's rude, aintcha a student or something?" She could almost feel their breaths on her back, even though they were some feet behind her, sauntering after her as a confident group. "Us boys're just concerned, what with a girl all walking home all alone. . . We'd be happy to escort ya." Bugs, the lot of them. She stopped walking, instead watching their shadows come up on the ground below.

"I don't need any 'service'," she intoned slowly.

"Hey c'mon, we ain't exactly charging for it, it's free-"

"I meant-" she continued in a louder tone that oozed a razor's edge. "that you should use what wits you have left to _go away_, you poor excuses for bugs."

Another second voice piped up, amused, "Aw fuck, she's one of them highbrow types. I think it's time you do your thing, Yanda. Give her a good poke." One of them guffawed darkly.

The third, slightly muscular man shrugged, and walked on over with his arms uncoiled. She looked over the back of her shoulder at the advancing man, her gaze taking on a resigned light.

There was the sudden sound of wood being chopped, and the man toppled to the ground with a pained grunt, his feet having been swept out from under him smoothly.

"I think we got us a fighter boys," one, no two of them were now brandishing pocket retractable knives, and they stepped over the groaning form of their friend. She could almost see the slobber in their open, grinning mouths. "This should be fun." She faced them silently and resolutely, as a tree stills before the breeze. She watched their movements with a practiced eye. When they lunged, she did too.

There was a grace to her movements as she expertly weaved under and behind the one who came first, allowing the second one's blow to slide past her and cause him to stumble against his companion, before she again dodged the next blow, her hair dancing in the afternoon chill. The boys all fell down in a disgusting heap like a pile of disturbed refuse.

She glared down at the fallen pile of bodies. It had taken all but five seconds for her to do her work, if she'd counted. To her, it had been a really short skirmish. She raised her hand, unclenching it. She hadn't even needed to attack; she'd used their energy against them.

"Such weak creatures . . . " she declared while departing, ". . . not even worthy enough to sully my fists!-"

It was almost the hour of twilight when she finally returned to her home. It was her family's ancient home, regal, grand and vast, that not even time could shape itself upon the old-fashioned roofs. She walked past the series of buildings, treading swiftly over the small crafted bridge that went over the pond to the main house. Above her, some birds chittered excitedly on the autumn-touched trees.

She could smell burning incense from far away, and she realized, with her stony expression dissolving, that there would be a lecture. She swiftly made for her room – running was forbidden in the hallowed home – to change her clothes into something more formal – before heading for the main practice hall.

"Young heir, you are very nearly late," intoned the august, booming greeting of aged voices speaking in concert, as she slid the wooden door open. The sound came from a group of figures sitting primly along a line, their distinctness shrouded by copious amounts of the burning smoke. As usual it caught in her throat, almost always urging her to cover every orifice in her face or cough out, but she couldn't. Not here, not _now._

"I deeply apologize for my indiscretion. I shall take any punishment that you see fit." She prostrated herself before the assembly, her body bared and her robes in a messy pile behind her. In that quick motion of subservience she had also removed the pins that had tied her hair to a bun, so now they were splayed on the polished wooden floor.

"You must listen, for now." A single voice said, she recognized it as her uncle's, "The signs have been gathered, and the signs have been interpreted, and a conclusion has been drawn. An ominous time approaches. Our Ancient Enemy walks once more. We have sensed it."

_Ancient Enemy? _She thought she'd been summoned for more instructions concerning her work, or something connected to her dojo, of which she was the Master to many unruly, weak students.

Though, she was only the Master to the public eye. As the sole remaining heir to the Kasuga-style Martial Arts School of the Life-and-Death technique, it was her responsibility to manage the flock of weaklings who converged on the school and wished to learn her family's arts. She was undoubtedly the strongest practicioner of close-combat fighting in Majima and the surrounding cities, having won many tournaments where she promoted her school.

But privately, the title of Master still belonged to her father and the group of forebears that made up the secret council, who hid behind masks of senility and disinterest in the art. They were the Masters and she was the One Heir, and the primary student for the art.

This art had been taught to her since her childhood, even before she'd been taught the Kasuga-style. It was an Art of the discovery and destruction of demons.

"Know this child, the tenets of the Kasuga, we who are the descendants of many noble clans of demon-hunters. To know the demon, you must be as human as you can be. To destroy the demon, you must yet be as human as you can be."

The Masters said that their family was an offshoot of offshoots, descended through fractious bloodlines from the demonhunter clans of antiquity. Over time, the Clan had developed its own style of hunting, even incorporating it into the auxilliary Life-and-Death style they had invented. It was said in some scrolls she had been made to read that all of Majima had once been the property of the Clan. She did not bother to guess when that changed.

The finer bits of demon-killing had been taught to her through the years, but the knowledge of demon-finding had yet to be taught to her. That was why she had still to lead a double life, as she'd always imagined, fighting demons in dark, deserted clearings or in dilapidated buildings at night. She figured it was because there was no cause to teach the heir, when there'd been no sign of the demons to speak of. Not when she'd been told her father and her father's father hadn't faced a demon at all in their lifetimes.

A voice that crackled like logs in flame continued, "It is unfortunate that it becomes so. The Clan had hoped to shield you and future generations from the advanced techniques of our branch, but it seems that will no longer be the case."

"It is disturbing to discover the continued existence of the demons," said a voice that she recognized as the raspy baritone of her father's, "But as the ancient agreements still bind our family, we are obliged to do our part as a Clan. Kusunoki, it shall be my duty now to teach you everything the Clan has to offer, as it is now yours to seek the presence of demons – and destroy them. The prized techniques of the Kasuga will be your tools, and our tenets shall be your guide. "

"There are ill tidings afoot," cried the first voice, "The strength of the Kasuga shall be needed should the demons come to Majima. Young heir, you are the only remaining vanguard, and so all our strength must, alas, be placed on a single man. The lone defender of this place where steel reigns in nature and a time when people do not know the darkness. You know your responsibility in this."

"I understand, Masters. I shall give my body and soul to this endeavor, to defend Man and the Kasuga name." She remained prostrated, letting the words out with the fervent insistence expected of her.

"Well spoken." There were grunts of approval all around. Then there was the sounds of shuffling and footsteps on the polished wooden floor as the Masters retired to their quarters. A single set of steps walked past her, and she heard her father's voice strictly say, "Get up, Kusunoki. The training shall begin this weekend. I trust you to arrange for the rescheduling of any future classes in the dojo."

She waited for his presence to fade, and as the sliding doors slid shut, she stood and put her robe back on. Kusunoki Kasuga spent some more time sitting properly in the darkness of the room, with the only sounds coming from the incessant chatter of the night citizens and her own deep, steady breaths.

OoOoOoOo

It was a quiet afternoon outside Cafe Grandpa, the brisk silence only intermittently broken by the snip-snips of a garden shear, and the occasional chimes of the entrance bells.

"We hope to have you again soon!" The Katsuragi Matriarch beamed and waved at the last customer. She had personally escorted the student out to the door so she could stretch her limbs after a long day of service. The coffee-ground smells wafted out from behind her, mixing with the scent of freshly cut grass and shrubs and the late afternoon neighborhood. She took a deep breath of both while she stretched, before looking around for the source of the snipping.

The grass at her feet were precisely and uniformly cut, attesting to the gardener's compulsions. She walked over it all on her way to the back, where he was crouched, finishing up his task.

"Keima, it's already closing time, I need to go prepare dinner. Is there anything specific you want?"

Thankfully, the boy wasn't secretly doing his stupid hobby on the side, or she'd reintroduce the PFP-tossing Olympics to her stubborn son. As it was, Keima turned his head at the sound of her voice and ceased the cutting. The boy placed the shears on the ground and wiped the side of his head with a damp cloth while he stood to rest.

"I've got no particular preference, mother, so it's entirely up to you." He cocked his head, realizing a thought. "But you know that. Why are you asking about it again?"

"Well since you've been such a nice and cooperative son today, I thought I'd reward you with something – even if what you want is going to be maybe something different." Keima had indeed been in a rare helpful mood the whole day, helping with the dishes after meals, offering to clean parts of the house for most of the day, and not objecting when she indirectly ordered him to trim the green outside by complaining about the gardener.

She only figured it was all because her crafty son had something in mind, something to ask her for at the end of the day in exchange for the meek compliance.

"Well, I've no preference, as usual. And mom, you're wrong about me wanting something. Today?" Keima spread his arms, indicating the green, no hint of sarcasm in his voice, "What's wrong with me being the model of a perfect son?"

Oh how her son could smile. It made him almost seem angelic, if she didn't truly know better, how she felt a devil rinning just beneath the surface. She supposed if it wasn't to ask for something, it was probably because some other things were making him indisposed to doing his hobby, and the subsequent boredom was enough to make him do the chores.

It was a chore to think things like this, she knew, and so she walked back to the house, wiping her hands on her apron as she shook her head, smiled and thanked him in turn. However, before she could re-enter the house, her son's voice stopped her.

"Oh by the way, I'm going to be gone for almost the whole day tomorrow, just thought I'd let you know. 'Gone early and back late' or something like that. So you probably won't need to prepare my lunch." She craned her head to see Keima nod to himself and crouch back to finish his task.

So there _was _something, she thought wryly. But then- "Keima, you do things like go on midnight walks and whole-day excursions the whole time," she called back to him. Keima stopped again and turned to look back at his mother. "Why are you asking formally now? You're always going on ahead without my permission, with not a single word to me about the where or when. Seeing you this polite makes me think there's something more to this 'day'. I don't know, heh, it's probably just me being paranoid." _Was she?_

She thought she could see a look of hurt, or resentment, or _something_ flash in his eyes when he looked away for that brief moment, she couldn't be sure, she was too far away now to tell. But it passed like a small cloud revealing the sun, making it seem her imagination, because Keima laughed heartily the next moment, gesturing with the shears in defeat.

"You're right. It's way too weird to be formal like this. Anyway, it's good to be informed for once though, eh?" Adjusting his glasses, he turned back to his interrupted work.

For her brief moment of worry, she stood pursing her lips at the sight of her studiously working son. She shook her head slowly, brushing off the concern from her mind ,because she knew Keima was grown enough – though to her he hadn't reached the point of _grown up_ – but again, he was at least grown enough to be rightfully out of her radius. God knows she was quite younger than him when she started exhibiting her own rebellious stance towards her uptight parents a lifetime ago. Though Keima was hardly taking after her mother, because he chose a different rebellion.

The Katsuragi matriarch hummed an oft-heard, jaunty tune, her thoughts on the next dinner. _Oh why did Hakua-chan have to choose the time to follow her insufferable son's advice and head for her country's embassy . . . _There were a lot of things she could still teach their newer family member.

The last thing she heard before the chimes welcomed her back into the warm interior were the repetitive snip-snips of the shear and the annoyed syllables coming out of her son's mouth. Pausing inside the doorway, she shook her head not for the last time as she went on to prepare the meal.

OoOoOoOo

Cheating was possible and quite acceptable in the game. In fact, it was even encouraged, as one of the tactics a player could use to secure victory. It demonstrated one's manifestation of demonic cunning to use whatever was on hand to deny the enemy a victory.

Of course, since the Almachina was reintroduced to the demonic masses, there were rules put in that rewarded the demon who caught their enemy cheating, adding a new dimension to the figurative staring contest that the game could devolve to.

It was thus prized, again, to have a poker face, which Dokuru had in spades.

Nora's last attack had really missed, but his announcement of it seemed to have convinced the proud specialist that he had lied, and so she was spending Dokuru's pseudo-turn glaring suspiciously into twinkling eyesockets. For his part, Dokuru was considering his next move: whether or not he would capitalize on Nora's paranoia or continue with his pre-planned strategy.

Should Nora call him out, the machine itself would be the judge, and should she be false, she would automatically lose. A fact that seemed to gnaw on Nora's proud exterior, giving her fellow specialists a rare glimpse of a flustered Nora.

"How much longer is this going to take?" said one member, who sat with knees drawn up (she had turned into a vague horned-toad thing). "I'm sooo hungry. . . ."

"Nora should just raise the whites, I mean, she _is _fighting the Chief himself." Nu-Faryan offered nervously to the others, who each made small noises of agreement.

"Silence! Did I ever ask for your opinion?" Nora snarled, without raising her eyes, keeping them desperately peering into Dokuru's face/skull to find a betrayal of expression. Along the way she had summoned her weapon of office, though many wondered what a single club could do to a _Section Chief _of the Runaway Squad.

"Ah, should I order the takeouts now and have whoever loses later pay?" offered another member. There were ready murmurs of assent.

"There will be time for a victory feast when victory itself comes!" Nora rapped her club on the table lightly, though its size made it sound like she'd slammed it. "Or else it will all taste like bitter ash in my mouth – which I know all of you have tasted more than once." Nora was the only one who giggled at her joke – there were sharp, cold glares from most of the specialists in the room.

Dokuru made his move, consigning his last remaining piece to another place, but chose to play defensively, reserving his energy and refraining from attacking on that turn. It was now Nora's turn, which he announced to her with the crisp warmness of his demeanor, his little boned hands steepled on the table.

Nora (wisely) chose to forego using the turn to call him out, and sank into her pseudo-turn with frenzied eagerness. "I'm sure I won't miss this time! I know _exactly _where you'll be sir!"Nora cackled, rapping her club excitedly. Dokuru thought he could see the silhouette of the thing she'd become during the mission, horns and all.

"So hungry~~~" the rest wailed.

OoOoOoOo

As usual, Keima spent his _proper _waking moments "meditating". If one did not appreciate the beauty of 2D every morning, the attraction would slowly vanish, and further down that road eventually lead to transforming into a righteous cynic who hated these types of games- and games in general. He'd observed the symptoms occur to people he never met but who voiced their stories through the 'net, and that, he thought, was good enough evidence. And so to stave it off, he perused a set of CG pictures, captioned by himself. They were the favorite scenes from his games, chosen because of their sentimentality and significance to him, the Capturing God. They were like trophies of hunted game, except this were trophies of his conquests in games, reminding him of his elevated status as the Capturing God.

Keima next started stuffing cartridges, peripherals and PFPs from a pile neatly prepared from the previous night into a bag. He periodically paused to consider the gamepacks he was putting inside, and some he returned back to their proper places on the shelves.

_"Katsura-chii? You're certainly early-yah." _came a disembodied voice that only he heard. It came from the glowing amulet around his neck, and it sounded like a childified version of Hakua de Rotto Helmium's normally annoying voice- complete with its own version of a language.

And that was because it _was _her voice, to an extent, originating from a being that was supposed to have trapped herself inside his conveniently ready amulet, possessing it like a deranged spirit as he'd glimpsed on some movies his mother had watched.

"We've been through this," Keima muttered to himself. To an outsider, it'd look like Keima had finally reached the cracking point. "I told you yesterday that today would be a special day. A special event, so to speak. And you're not allowed to talk at all throughout it, unless there's an emergency of Hell freezing over or something." Because hearing that voice again and again everyday was already a glimpse of hell.

"_Ah-cha, I dyoo remember-yah. . . " _There was the sound of yawning, and the amulet flared a brief heat, making Keima flinch. "_I 'member ya menshyaning it, but I'd have tyoo ask again-yah: who is it ya'll be meeting-yeh? Ya nev'r did answer that one-yah."_

_It's just an old friend, eh nii-sama?_

_Shut up! _Keima quashed the second voice to the back of his mind furiously. Hakua's current condition had, aside from creating awkward questions from his mother, added another disembodied voice to his head, joining the old one that on bad days, always made him wonder whether he'd already gone cuckoo. On other days, it was just plainly annoying, urging him to do "it".

"It" having become slightly more difficult do, what with the constant feeling of being watched by a pair of devil eyes.

"_Katsura-chii?" _asked Hakua, a tiny bit of concern creeping into the voice. He didn't know how it looked like inside that amulet, but apparently the she-devil could see and hear whatever was going on outside. He supposed it would be unnerving to see someone stare off or glare daggers into space for no apparent reason.

Keima visibly stirred, ignoring the unnerving echoes of laughter in his ears as he shook his head, "It's nobody that would concern you. Most of all? It's none of your business."

"_Well exchuuse me for want'ng tyoo gather infermachyon on my Buddy-yah,"_ huffed the voice. "_Nyaledge _isn't_ power, right -yeh?"_

_"_In this case," Keima loudly said, testing the weight of the bag, now zipped shut, "I don't see how the knowledge would give you – or me- anything. Besides, you'll be spending the entire day getting to know all about it, and by the time the day's over, I'm thinking you'd see how it's not that relevant to you after all." Keima then started changing into his clothes.

_You tell her, nii-sama._

_Did I not tell you to stop speaking? _Keima's eyelid twitched a fraction, assuring him that he was indeed close to _a _breaking point. "Though come to think of it, today would be some sort of Hell for you, she-devil." He sifted through several stacks of printouts, searching for something. "If you consider endless, boring human-speak to be Hell, at least. . . Ah, here it is." He folded the paper, reopening his bag and inserting it between the cartridges.

"_Are ya cherious-yeh? Ya subjiyecting me t' tortyur by conversation-yeh? Oh-cha, woe is me-yah." _Hakua said drily. Although she meant her statement to be sarcastic, her modified voice made it sound like she did mean it, as a child who'd been caught with hand down the cookie jar.

"Well, I'll be going," Keima mumbled over the threshold of Cafe Grandpa, allowing the early morning chill to waft over his snugly suited form. Grasping the bag, he closed the door silently, allowing the chimes to sound ever so softly. Keima paused for a bit after the door closed, listening beyond for a hint of his mother coming down. After a while, he shouldered his bag and set off.

"_Wait-cha, have ya eatan, Katsura-cchi yeh?" _asked Hakua. There was a hint of disappointment in there, combined with something akin to indignation. "_I don' fyeel anythin' coming therooh th' bond . . . _"

"Fixing somethng up would have woken Mom up back there, and I didn't want to spend another hour waiting for food while she interrogates me about my plans." Keima breathed, retreating even further inside the warmth of the folds of his clothes. "It's nice that you're worrying about my body, she-devil, but be assured that I'll be eating something when we get there." He frowned, recognizing the sudden, familiar surge of warmness coursing through him, along with the incessant pleas of that other voice. It took some of his reserve willpower to banish that. Not that he wanted to spite the devil or anything; he was hungry.

"_Ya nyaw-cha, if I am ever t' rec'ver my form, a littel help would be nice-yah." _remarked Hakua. "_As I've explained-cha, what passes for eniyergy in thiyat b'dy of yours giyets shiyared wit' me, allowin' me to buil' up enyaff to raef'rm- yah. And everry bit of eniyergy comin' in is hiyelpfu', yoh! It is painfully borin' bein' cuuped up insayd here . . . and I still have lots of peyperwork to ketch up with when I get out-yah." _The voice sounded genuinely distraught.

"Should've thought of that before roping me in. . . " Keima said in a whisper, eliciting an "_Aha-cha, I heard dat, yoh!_" from the she-devil. Bracing himself against the constant breeze, he pulled out his PFP and peripheral headphones, though he thought better of it with the second one, as having a voice speaking insults directly into your brain while you spent some quality fishing time with a heroine wasn't part of his definition of fun. He'd already had enough of Hakua contemptly commenting about his two-timing plenty of 2D heroines ("They're exclusive routes! Mutually exclusive-!") or scoffing at the use of magic in some games. ("-_and they not ev'n usin' coamand ruunes? What kigh of undissipline' __**magic**__ is dat- yeh?"_)

Keima rubbed the fingers of his free hand together, displeased to find them moist.

OoOoOoOo

Ultimately, the best way to win the Almachina, as many experts continuously discuss and debate, is by forming a plan of attack from the very start, preferably by the time one is challenged to play the game. It is then assumed that this scheme transcends whatever tactic or technique would be used within the game, beyond the likes of "first-turn determinants" or the Naberian gambits. A strategy is quietly formed in the mind of the devil as they analyze their opponent, and the extant branches of strategy lead on from there. A particular group of devils in the Near West attest that the mere act of declining or accepting a challenge is itself a strategic goal, though not many devils ever took the statement seriously. Declining meant automatically losing, so that was absurd.

Almachina was just a game, it bears reminding, despite its claim of mimicking the brutal byzantine belligerence of the Old Hell regime that, to many demons, was akin to legendary. It was a watered down version of apocryphal tales claiming how this one legion or that one duke was able to strike down a rival devil while they were a realm away among the humans; or of the cunning slithen who tricked a razorback into bombarding a seemingly empty area – thereby elimininating her bloodletter pursuers and shaming the pride-demon at the same time. Brutality and base cunning – prove your devilness by winning against your friends! Get an Almachina machine now! Though devils were far from easily star-struck like the babe-eyed humans, it seemed that this generation proved to be the closest to emulating the humans' propensity for cheapened thrills.

Many turns had passed since then, and Nora's hysteria had reached a fever-pitch. Defensive runes started glowing on her skin, subconsciously summoned by the master's desperation, even though there was no real combat threat. The fact that Dokuru had "let slip" that he only had one piece remaining apparently was no consolation to the specialist, as she tried and failed to pinpoint Dokuru's fleeing mage.

There were whispers of a stalemate among the other watching specialists, whose collective hunger had bypassed the peak of pain to reach a state of numb anticipation of the winner. Dokuru occasionally turned his head to look concernedly in their direction, while Nora merely shrugged them off, along with her own obvious hunger.

"This time I've got you, old geezer!" Nora ended her turn, glaring hungrily in Dokuru's direction. There were gasps, accusations of disrespect, but all Dokuru could think of at that moment before he declared whether Nora had scored a hit or not, was something else.

It was said that the greatest demons, the ones who had ascended to Greater status and achieved great renown in Hell, notoriety in the mortal realm and undivided disgust in Heaven, never spent a single moment of their existence being idle. They expended all their energies towards playing The Game, a Game that far exceeded the simplified simulacrum of the Almachina.

Strategy was foremost in their mind, and every action was guarded, every decision measured and all efforts were undertaken to observe the others do the same. Entire legions were sacrificed to oblivion with about the same throwaway mien as a player might today let his mage's location be revealed.

The books certainly claimed those things of the Greater Demons, corroborated by other certain documents in the various "forbidden" archives scattered throughout Hell. Yet none ever knew the stark truth to the legend, for not a single Great One wrote down what they knew and experienced. And so the natures of the dead lords and ladies passed from certainty through obscurity to myth. Chiefs like Dokuru were the ones who were more aware of these discrepancies than most, for in their position as Heads of departments it was required to at least think like a Greater Demon at times.

So what was Dokuru's strategy here? It did not go towards merely winning or losing this game. After all, if he won, then it would secure _an _image. A_nother _image would be guaranteed should Nora win, though it was not so different from the former.

None but the devil himself knew what passed through Dokuru Skull's mind in that moment, what grand strategy he'd considered, and to what ends had that gone, or whether or not he saw something in the field, inside the Specialist's heart or within his absent own.

"Well, game goes to Specialist Nora," Dokuru shrugged, reaching for and palming the pieces that had fallen into the machine. The machine bleeped mournfully, flashing muted lights on his side, but on Nora's there were beeps of victorious fanfare and a digitized voice congratulating her. There was a moment of shocked silence. And then Nora shrieked and whooped in victory, looking insanely happy while thumping her club against the table repeatedly. Tthe others released a breath that had been bated all the while. Some shook their heads at Nora's attitude, while the others bleated about the food: should they continue the tournament after they'd eaten?

"No need, no need," Dokuru said pleasantly, calling out over Nora's noisy victory dance. "Let's call for refreshments from the outpost staff. I'm sure most of you would appreciate fighting Nora later on a full belly." He turned and congratulated Nora again on her victory.

"Why thank you sir. It was a good game indeed," Nora said sweetly, barely hiding her condescending smirk. She shook an imaginary hand petulantly before turning to the specialists.

As she dragged the other specialists outside with her, proclaiming her victory again and again, Dokuru Skull was unwittingly left with the process of sealing the game machine shut. Shaking his head, he gathered all the player pieces in his hand while he snapped the Neo-Hellian Almachina close. He gathered all the pieces and set them along the sides properly. Dokuru stopped at the last piece, recognizing it as his last one, before he put it together with the others. He looked from the sealed machine to the open door, where Nora's gleeful hoots could still be heard, then back to the machine. He tapped the machine with a bone finger idly. _Strategy._

* * *

Vivian's Note: Hey there~~ You were probably thinking, maybe finding your day brightening up a bit to see an update? Maybe thinking, yay he got his computer and he can start writing again!

Nope.

He got nothing. All of the above were notes and snippets I found lying around my laptop. It's his tendency to start up a notepad, write up ten paragraphs, save, close then forget about it for later. Talk about sloppy right? Right?

Well I got permission to cobble them up, y'know to finally put it out there rather than sit taking up space in my laptop. He said sure, so I touched it up, edited it some, and here we have it. And to add his own apology, which I've condensed below:

"_Terribly sorry, but economically speaking, I should be saving up for big stuff for the future first. No computers yet, until I luck out in the garbage somewhere. Cheers, Merlin."_

Voice your thoughts with the button below, and I'll do my best to relay any questions about plot, any praises, criticisms and the like. And I'll do my best to answer!


	16. God and the Old Man

There is nothing to see.

You have not played through the Tenri Ayukawa route.

You require additional Keima tokens.

You have not known the truth about Chihiro Kosaka.

You do not know Hell.

You do not know who Keima truly is.

Press Enter to go back to the Main Menu. Once there, click on Next chapter once it is available.

We are sorry for the inconvenience. . .

* * *

Author's Note: Soon... yes...very, very soon...


	17. Interlude VII: A New Trunk to Explore

Keima let out a tired, ragged breath, frosting the surface of the display glass. He was standing in front of one of his frequented stores, staring glumly about as he absently fingered the front of his shirt. He made no move to enter, despite the questioning glances the manager shot him from inside. Any other time he would have leered at the desperation in those glances, most likely caused by the shop's devoidness of customers.

The warm afternoon had already settled in to chilly twilight, casting pleasant sunset glows along the street where Keima was. He rubbed his fingers together to attain some warmth before turning into the street to start heading home.

"_Nyaw can I tolk-yeh?" _Hakua's curious voice sounded out of thin air, making his head throb just one more pulse. In his stress-ridden stupor, he dimly wondered if he'd really forgotten all about the devil's presence during the whole meeting, and of what she'd soon be remarking about what she'd seen.

"I told you before: no talking." said Keima. "At least, not until I'm. . .ready." He set his trembling jaw, staring determinedly through the milling sunset crowds he passed. He itched to fish out the PFP and play, but there was still that nagging feeling in his mind, like he'd dipped it in something foul and sticky. Come to think of it, his skin was drenched in several layers of spent sweat and dust. He'd have to bathe thoroughly later.

"_But thyat was. . . an' tha girl, she was-_" began Hakua regardless.

"Yes, yes she was exactly who she claimed to be. I think. I've long abandoned any notion of proving him wrong." He made a strangely-formed grin. "And it just so happens too that my inquiries into certain internationally-acclaimed companies have borne some fruit. So it's not entirely far-fetched to say that his company pioneered the creation of robots or something."

"_Oh no-cha, I waszn't refurring to tha girl-yah. If she did claim to be a construct-cha, den it no bizziness of mayn-yah. __**Hell**__ payoneer'd it furtht after all-yah." _Keima raised an exasperated brow. "_Huwat I am refurring to is dat uzzer thing, in which ya-"_

_"_Zip!" Keima abruptly raised a hand and cut the air with it energetically, causing some of those nearby to look at him strangely. "That was exactly the thing I said I wouldn't be talking about. You've already seen it today, so would you please keep that to yourself and draw your own conclusions? I wasn't joking when I said you should leave it alone." There was a hardened edge to his voice then, and the force of it was enough to cause even Hakua to pause.

For Hakua, what she'd seen was the latest in the series of violations of human behavior she had learned about in the academy, broken systematically again and again from her time observing her Buddy. The first had been the obscene mating rituals practiced in public which made even this century-old devil blush. She now had reason to believe that Hell's info was outdated by a century, which one part of her greeted with misgiving; Hell shouldn't be _that_ way, especially when it involved the important Runaway Spirit Squad!

Keima was now rubbing his lips thoughtfully. Just a few minutes before, they had been extra-soaked from all the mouth rinsing the Capturing God had to do in the moments following the end of the meeting. He'd been rubbing it vigorously until it was as clean as he wanted it to be. Which it now was, thanks to himself.

He checked his mouth again. A thought occured to him.

"Huh. Never thought it'd feel this way. . ." he murmured against his hand cryptically. A soaring feeling welled up in him.

"_Huwat ya toakin' bout' naow, -yeh?" _

"After this day, Hakua, I find myself in the rare position of. . . " It seemed like his recent hurts had been tossed to the wayside. He braced himself, his newfound excitement coursing through his renewed limbs. When it finally burst out, he leapt, fisting the air triumphantly. "Freeeeeedom! Eeeeyahoo! Free! Free, free, free at last!" A few bystanders scurried away in fright. Keima cackled, adding to Hakua's confusion.

"_Katsura-chii, huwat ya mean, -yeh?" _Such outbursts weren't uncommon when it came to her Buddy, but she wondered all the same. Especially since she wasn't corporeal enough to bonk him on the head for it. . . yet.

Keima now restarted walking again, jaunty springs in his every step. "Oh lovely, quite lovely, with freedom like this it's game-all-you-want! I can almost sing, no I can almost write a song about it! That's right, you!" he pointed at a man, who recoiled instinctively. "A song called freedom!

"You girl! 'Freedom from toil'! Repeat after me!" he pointed at another girl, who squeaked and scurried off. A thoroughly joy-drunk Keima continued pointing and gesturing at people as he ran past, "This day I rue, as meetings always do!

"But since I'm free, it makes me _squee!_

"The devil's lost, the contract's paused!" Many inner Keimas were doing raucous jigs in his mind. Keima was happy that other thing in his mind wasn't joining in.

"_Huweel ya stop it, -yeh? Yar mak'n' me embarehss'd, ev'n tho I not dere – yoh!" _Hakua tried to yell irritably, to no avail.

"Hmm, yes I do believe I have it." Keima had stopped to stand in the middle of the street, and there was a non-walk zone in a circle around him as the other people ambled nervously past. He glanced at them, and after a beat, twirled and spread his arms out, shouting for all the street to hear, "_The cold wind freezes, hellfire's gone but warmth remains, now the devils sleep!"_

"Shut up!" "Go on home you freak!"

Keima ignored the jibes and insults, he was the Capturing God, and he was _free. _He knew he must savor it, clinging to the well-earned freedom he'd been denied all throughout his enslavement. Now was the time to strike! "Marathon!" he proclaimed.

In his frenzied delight, he bumped into a person, causing a stack of papers to fall from her hands. Quickly realizing his mistake and mumbling a quick apology, he swooped in to help the girl gather the scattered papers before they could be blown away, and after they were collected he presented them to her with a magnanimous flourish.

"Terribly sorry for the mess. Sometimes I let my excitement get the best of me." He made to offer his brightest beam, but then it faltered, to be quickly replaced by a horrified expression upon seeing who it was.

The blonde hair should have given it away. It was Aoyama, who was now looking at him suspiciously, the papers now clutched to her chest. He quickly averted his face, to avert some sort of recognition from her. Although the devil had said that the mission targets wouldn't remember him after a capture, he still couldn't have fate tempted so easily. So he'd avoided attention any way he could when around the girls, which had failed quite spectacularly on this afternoon.

Not wanting to prolong the encounter even further, he chose the safe option. Run!

Before Mio could offer some form of thanks, the Capturing God had disappeared into the crowd, who had parted quite readily at his passing like motes of dust in the wind.

"Damn these random encounters!" Keima seethed. "I did _not _just trigger a flag right there." It would be too troublesome if that were so. This was exactly why he stayed away from Ayumi as much as he could in class. He'd seen enough (from games) how innocent interactions could spontaneously trigger memory recall syndrome - otherwise known as Keima-must-die scenario. Enough routes featured that – some even relied on that as a device.

He hoped Mio didn't remember too much of his face. He recalled the brief interaction they'd shared, wondering if he'd revealed his face too much in there. And he'd nearly smiled at her! Nothing beat plastering one's face for good or bad into a girl's head than an overly friendly smile. Nope, he decided while he ran, she didn't see me that much. _No flag, please let there be no flag. _

"Even minor flags can map entire courses of destiny." he reminded himself darkly. Hakua said nothing all throughout the return home, though the amulet pulsed heat more frequently. Keima seemed not to have felt it, choosing to have his mind plot a more pleasant course.

For above all, he was free, even for a while. To him, that was more important than anything.

OoOoOoOo

"Don't move pretty boy, or your girlfriend'll be biting the dust next." The ski-masked man spat, tightening his arm-lock on Yotsuha, Yokkyun's estranged cousin-turned-half-sister, who was also incidentally his current lover. The bloodied bodies of their bodyguard friends lay strewn about the ruined office landing.

He edged closer at a slow pace, holding his palms out and offering the bag full of bank notes in plain view. "Yes, I'm moving, moving to give you this, you can see. So please, take the money and don't hurt Yotsuha anymore," he pleaded. The gagged girl was looking fearfully at him, tears perching on the corners of her eyes.

Some of the other crooks narrowed their eyes, squinting at the windows where a helicopter's searchlight was now peering in. "Shit!"

Using that as the signal, he quickly dove, knocking back the hostage-taker's arm before he could fire a shot. One did get off, though it shot wild, but in that moment he had already disarmed the man and grabbed the rope-bound Yotsuha to himself.

"He's brought help, I told you the guy was a conniving snake- aargh!" One of them shouted, blood-red spots blooming all over his body. He was the last to slump to the floor, victim of a vicious barrage coming from the helicopter, shattering the windows with great force.

He felt around the shattered glass lying around, picking one up to carefully cut the extra-tight ropes binding his lover. After freeing her arms, he untied the gag, and they shared a quick, passionate kiss before they nodded at each other.

"The car's waiting outside. Let me gather some clues first," he told her. Nodding weakly but firmly, she limped over to the corridor, shoes scuffing loudly on the carpet.

He walked over to the broken window. The sounds of the departing helicopter faded in the distance. He sent his silent gratitude to his friends in the police department who'd obliged the heli support. He stepped over to the edge, and peered down to see-

_Fog._

"Funny," he muttered wryly to himself. I don't remember the plot of _Hill's Silence _FD ~raburabu~ carrying into that of _Key Masters XI. _The only conclusion then, is: I'm in 'its' dream again._"_

There was that damnably familiar sight of ever-present fog. He looked around, seeing the walls of the room melt off into darkness with mercurial fluidity. He sighed, mist issuing from his mouth and fading into the encroaching dark behind him. He adjusted his glasses upward.

He looked back, and now he was actually peering out from a window of a tower. After a beat, he realized it was from the crooked tower that he'd been seeing most of the time. He peered out over the omnipresent mist, shrouding everything below him. The vague, sheer faded walls of the tower extended below him and into the shroud.

He felt its presence come near, and suddenly he thought he could spy it somewhere in the mists below. He could feel its eyes on his, burning and accusatory.

"**You."**

He raised a brow. "Me."

The voice sounded subdued, angry this time. It was less of the silky sweetness and more of the roiling thunderstorm. "_What _are **you **doing up _there_?"

"I climbed up, obviously." A blast of impotent hatred hit him then, and he almost flinched at the force of it. He struggled to keep the nonchalance on his face.

Despite the apparent displeasure, the voice remained civil. "_Respectfully_, mortal, how on _earth_ did **you** _manage_ to get up there?"

"I respectfully claim ignorance." He looked behind him again. It almost seemed like he was standing on a narrow precipice of sorts. If he took a step forward, he would fall into the mists, and if he stepped back, he would disappear into the dark. He reached up a hand to feel the edges of the window. They felt spongy, as if the wall were made of warm bread.

"Young mortal, there _will _be time for jests later. However, today is _not_ that time. " He looked back down in alarm, because there was a squelching sound of berries bursting from below.

And the dream-Keima felt a twinge of fear for the first time, God though he should be. His tongue went out to lap at the drying edges of his mouth, and he reached out his other arm to support himself against the other edge of the windowsill. Down in the mists, there was the feeling of mounting pressure, of a whirlpool that was materializing out of thin air.

Then it seemed as if the presence had magnified, grown, transformed into titanic proportions. Though he couldn't see it, his eyes followed its rapid growth upward and into the sky, fearful. A breath as from an oven brushed against his face, and he shivered. It smelled like something sickly sweet.

He could almost feel the unseen hand reach out, searching for him through the mists, and he braced himself, ready for the gigantic embrace, waiting for the hand to scoop him up and crush him easily.

But nothing came. The hand (he could almost see the hand now, and all its features, though he couldn't remember what it looked like a moment later) struggled against the mist, and he knew it was searching vainly for him.

The mist-wreathed figure uttered a frustrated shriek. It was like a child that could not find the one small colored ball amidst all the others, like losing the same ball in the sands of a beach. It resounded in his ears, shrill and piercing. The hand reached out, to find nothing, though he knew it knew he was there. Keima felt secure inside his tower, raining superiority down at the thing that clawed blindly for him.

And then a foolish thought occured to him. He would not hide here, safe but cowardly behind the mist. No, he would challenge whatever it was head-on.

He would win!

So he took a tentative step back, feeling the comfortable solidness of the dark behind him. He crouched, gathering himself up, before he jumped, fists flailing, body twisting in the air. The Dream Keima wished for wings and he thought that he could feel them sprouting from his back, spreading gloriously unseen behind him as he took flight.

He sank into the mist and felt himself brush against something soft and cushiony. He sank his fist into it, and for a brief moment of triumph, he could feel the figure's surprise and confusion as he sank fist after vengeful fist into the mist.

And then he was falling.

The faint beeps of victorious fanfare were the first thing Keima heard when he came to. He clutched the headphones, hanging uncomfortably around his head and neck, and took them out, the music fading. He rose from his dozing position on the desk, and adjusted the glasses perched on his sweaty hair down to peer at the screen before him.

The Yotsuha route ~AFTER~ had been successfully unlocked and cleared, it said in bright glowing letters and a bonus art of the titular girl in beachwear. Keima realized he must have fallen asleep in the middle of the route and his arm, having conveniently fallen on the skip button, had played the rest of the game for him while he was asleep. What a shameful way of treating a route! He berated himself. Though he would dock points against the game for having no choice presentations to begin with.

Well, it wasn't like Yotsuha's after route was anything novel or heart-wrenching. Even if she was somehow related to Yokkyun, she was still a minor subcharacter whose "onii-chan moe" had somehow appealed to a niche group of fans and caused her to get her own route in the fandisks. It was absurd, but as the Capturing God, he couldn't shirk his duty to capturing even her.

He looked at the time. He stretched, hearing the small clink of the amulet against his clothes as he did a few twists with his body. Keima looked around and wondered silently to himself. Had he been dreaming something in that small nap?

He then realized that the she-devil was quietly snoozing away somewhere inside the amulet, as it was stone-cold in temperature. He wanted to prod it, a part of his mind wanted to see the devil's reaction to being woken up rudely. But then no, that would be _weird._

He tilted his head, wondering to himself silently. He couldn't shake off the feeling that he'd won something. Keima again saw the congratulatory credits (complete with Yotsuha's sheer cliffs), and shrugged.

"Freedom. . . freedom. . . " Keima Katsuragi giggled in the darkness. "Review for game. . . let's see, a few words should cover it? No, we must celebrate our happiness more, let's add two more paragraphs. . . 'Although it was lacking in some parts, the overall impression of Yokkyun's'-" The incessant tap-tap on the keyboard continued until the dawn, when the Katsuragi matriarch opened the door to find her son slouching in his pajamas over his desktop.

OoOoOoOo

"And that is why, ladies and gentlemen," the black-haired boy proclaimed in a faux baritone, percipience and mastery framing every inch of his face, "-this transfer student that we all have heard of must be encouraged to come here! Based on the common sense data you all know, the male population in Class 2-B is outnumbered by the females by two. For this reason, and many others," he winked conspiratorially at his male compatriots to the side, "we must organize ourselves to petition Mr. Kodama to enroll the transfer student into our class!"

He pumped his fist into the air, looking around at his gathered audience: almost all of the students in Class 2-B. They whistled and roared their approval as the self-proclaimed "genius", "rousing", "inspirational" "Maestro" of their class conducted its students to another grand scheme.

"Go Maestro!" yelled a few of the boys who stood to gain the most from the plan.

"Always the best speeches, that Maestro."

"Maestro should run for student council president!"

"But. . . " said a girl off to the back of the crowd, who was said to be particularly slow when it came to things. She looked at the gathered girls and boys and then at the seats, counting them individually. "My common sense data says that there's only a difference of one in the population of girls versus boys, Maestro. Or is it-" she checked again. Her friend nudged her in the ribs, and at that moment the crowd looked towards the center of the room, where the Otamega, Katsuragi sat.

The idiot was knee-deep in a game.

"Oh." said the girl in dawning comprehension to the sniggers of her friends. "Oh!"

"So you see, ladies and gentlemen," said the Maestro, who had taken back the floor, "This class is in sore need of more girls to brighten our mornings. We would trade a Katsuragi and a Mikono if it meant more girls, am I right? Right?" he asked his compatriots.

"Hey!" cried one Mikono, a boy with a plump face.

"I'm just kidding, Mikono you healthy, _scrumptious_ bag of energy. But we would trade one Katsuragi for even one girl, right? Right? No one disagrees." There were nods of assent, even more from the girls. It was a well-known, unspoken fact.

"Everybody! It's almost time. Please head to your seats," said a new voice, and the entire assembly looked to the door, where their class president, one Chihiro Kosaka stood at the entryway, school bag slung lazily over her shoulder.

"President!" the Maestro bounded over, bubbling over with energy from his speech to his fellows, "I would just like to proclaim a wondrous new agenda we've all just reached, and that is-"

"Shut. Up. Maestro. If you know what's good for you." Chihiro hissed suddenly, eyes burning a hole in the rabblerousers' own. The latter, sensing his danger, lost all his flamboyant demeanor and stepped down, slinking into the crowd like a beaten dog.

Silence followed her as Chihiro stepped up to the center table, and then she turned and looked increduously at them all. "Well? Did you think I was gonna say something? I said get back to your frigging seats! Class is about to start! Do I honestly need to shout to get you laggards to move? Go on! Shoo!"

Never a class who could stand up to their strong-willed president, the rest of the crowd imitated the Otamega and bustled over to their seats. The Maestro looked particularly put out, though he said nothing. The school bell rang, and the assembly sighed and pulled up their books and pencils from their desks.

"Hey, Chihiro, what's up?" whispered Ayumi Takahara, her seatmate, "you look more than irritated today."

The president looked like she wanted to say something abrasive, but shook her head and thought better of it. "Guess I woke up to the wrong kind of music or something? I don't know, I'm not _angry _angry." The tension in the class eased up. There were relaxed muscles everywhere.

"More like on the level of pissed," she said loudly,looking around the room, and the students tensed up again, averting their eyes. She looked back at Ayumi, who looked like she didn't know what to say. "Like I stepped on something nasty on the street and it took a while to wash off. Y'know. That kind of pissed." There were sighs of relief. Chihiro snapped her head back, and the Maestro sunk deeper in his seat. Some people were looking determinedly at the doorway.

The Capturing God, having reached a tedious multi-decision point, sighed and pressed the button to save. He stretched his free arm, switching the PFP over to stretch the other, and looked around. _Class was silent, for once. _He shrugged and turned back to his game with greater determination.

Somewhere there was a yawn, heard only by one, followed by a chirp that only the God could hear, "Did I miss something_?"_

OoOoOoOo

_Take your pick, Kodama, it's your turn Kodama, good luck Kodama, those damn, overblown, overdressed, overpaid sleazepockets who couldn't make heads or tails of a single book report on any Western literature- _2-B's homeroom teacher, one square-jawed Ichiro Kodama clenched and unclenched his fist, his explosive demeanor normally reserved for one particular honor/trouble student in his class seeping out in the corridor on this early morning.

He walked ahead of a girl wearing her pre-transfer school uniform, her bluish green blazer making her stand out in the corridors of red. The bell rang just then, and Kodama glanced back with unrestrained hostility at his latest headache, the transfer student that had just been "raffled" into his class.

It wasn't that the Majima teaching staff was irresponsible or anything. It wasn't like the school's abysmal academic rating among the country translated over to its staff, and to their unceasing tendency for stupid, unnecessary things whenever they got _bored. _No, it was their unchanging penchant for laziness every single moment of their working times! Weren't they supposed to be teachers? Shouldn't they come to the academy to teach instead of playing darts in their office, or drinking sake right in the middle of the day, or endless flirting, or _playing raffles to see which transfer student belonged to which teacher_ – there were just too many flaws to list. And he'd yet to begin on activities _after _school.

And Kodama had no choice but to go along with it; he could never be compelled to leave Majima, one way or another. Although people generally tolerated his explosive demeanor, some didn't take it well, so it was only in this gods-forsaken school where he was able to last so long. And it was only because they _ignored _him most times.

The only one who didn't was that creepy language teacher with the disturbing, ever-present bondage collar who kept coming on to him. Well, she came on to everyone, but still.

"Here we are, transfer student." He stopped before the closed door, already eyeing one particular seat in the center with distaste. "Wait here while I prepare the class, mine can be pretty. . . unhinged at times. Wouldn't want the boys to start jumping you, now would we? Not like I'd ever let them, of course, just so you know." The girl gave a timid nod, most of her face hidden behind black bangs. Kodama eyed the buns on her hair dubiously, before opening the door to what he hoped would be another fruitful day for educating young minds, no matter how unsalvageable some would be.

"-and before you even ask, yes, we do have a transfer student coming in and IT IS NOT! ("'Vindication!' cried one) I repeat, NOT GOING TO become a big deal with the rest of you. You people are here to learn, and by the Fates you are going to learn. . . Kosaka, where's the class list? I'll need to have it updated temporarily. . . Get back to your seat Mikono, I'm warning you! And you! And you! Get back down or it's self-study in the library! Before I introduce her, I'd like you all to look at some handouts for the upcoming exam, your updated schedules are in there, and I've taken the liberty of-"

Whack! Pulling out a well-used rolled-up newspaper, he bonked the resident delinquent/honor student on the head, who didn't look up from his hell-machine. "Katsuragi! At least show some respect towards your soon-to-be new classmate! Just getting good grades won't always entitle you in life, as Miss Kosaka has proven, why thank you dear, the list looks better than I expected. . . and that respect goes for the rest of you non-achievers, you have to be sure to make a good example for our new student. . . "

Yes, Kodama Ichiro decided, it was a grand day for some educating.

OoOoOoOo

"Okay then, Ayukawa-san, I guess it's time to show you around. I'm Chihiro Kosaka, class president." Chihiro greeted the newcomer, who'd spent the periods before lunch silently huddled in the seat at the corner of the room. Chihiro found it cold, but it was all because their homeroom teacher was a stickler for orderliness and wouldn't hear of allowing the seating arrangements to be mixed around just for the sake of one transfer student.

"Um, pleased to meet you. I leave myself in your hands, Kosaka-san." the girl meekly bowed in turn, keeping her hands crossed before her chest.

"Hey now, you're not one of those shy types are you? There are dogs here that'd like to eat you up just for that. And I don't mean literally eating you up." she continued, waving at the rest of the room. The president's enforcement of will had caused most of the boys to flee at the moment of dismissal rather than attempt to besiege the newcomer's seat for after-school offers. The girls had respectfully kept their distance in turn.

"I'm sorry, I'm just not too good at first times. But, but- I'll work hard! I promise!" The girl made a show of determination.

"Mm. That's good enough, I guess. Only time will tell if you actually shape up, Ayukawa. . . Tenri-san was it? Can I call you that?"

"Uh, sure, I don't mind." Ayukawa Tenri acceded hesitantly. Chihiro, sensing the first barriers crossed, grinned in turn. "Alright then, before we go, I'd like to tell you something about our class. There are three rules that are vital outside of class rules. One, do not associate with any other person, male or female, outside this class - outside of class, at any time."

"Why is that?" asked Tenri. Chihiro shot her a searching look.

"C'mon. Haven't you heard the rumors about this school? I thought it was well-known in Majima already. 'Where all manner of sinful, languid students congregate'. And I don't mean the overly delinquent types. Like the types who'll knock you out, tie you up and take you to a dark place to do bad things. Well, I guess you'll be seeing the gist of it soon," she added upon seeing Ayukawa's innocent, puppy eyed look. "And that's why in here, you're mostly protected: your classmates will look out for you, and no bullies or other suspicious types will accost you so long as I'm still here. Which leads me to my next rule.

"Two, the president's word is law." Chihiro puffed up her chest. "I'm the best damn class president this school has, and if it weren't for my other duties, I'd be planning on running for school president! These girls know what I'm talking about," she turned to the students still lingering inside the room. "Hey, you big-breasted slackers, what're you still doing here, huh?" she yelled in a coarse, ill-mannered voice. "I don't want any of you rabid rabbits using my classroom for any of your irresponsible 'activities'. Go on, get the hell outta here!" In moments the president's face had twisted into something akin to what could be seen on a displeased taskmaster upon seeing her slaves mucking about. With various yelping sounds the students fled, leaving a baffled Tenri and a satisfied-looking Chihiro in the classroom.

"See what I mean? Most people around here will learn not to mess with me, including any of the aforementioned bad seeds. That's why you're safe while you're under my eye. And in return, as long as you're under me, you have to do what I say." She crossed her arms, looking pleased with herself.

"Oh. . . " Tenri said, not knowing what to say in this situation. She nodded, "Thank you, Kosaka-san. I won't forget it."

"Good. I think." Chihiro looked sideways at her. "The third and last rule is: do not involve yourself with the Otamega."

"Otamega?" Tenri wondered.

"Umu, he's our resident supergeek. Actually, he might be Majima High's only example of a blown up supergeek. He's an otaku to the rabid extreme. Even admits it loudly to himself. I won't be surprised if you get infected by all manner of unpleasant diseases if you get close to him." she smiled and shrugged at Katsuragi's empty seat (the idiot had wandered off just as usual), before noticing that the girl's eyes were already looking in that direction. "You noticed him right? He doesn't get that much flak from teachers because of his grades, which by the way ain't that great in my opinion, allowing him to do whatever he wants in class. I and a number of other people can't wait for the day when he fails to get a perfect score, so that Kodama'll be able to frame the testpaper for years to come. Well, I'm sure you'll get to know more about him as the days pass." Chihiro gestured to the door. "Now that I've laid out my rules, let's move on to the tour."

Out in the corridor, a freight train sped past, colliding with one of the columns with an earth-shattering crash. After the dust cleared, Tenri saw the missile girl come back to them with a dazed look on her face, swaying unsteadily on her feet.

"Oi, Ayumi. How was track, has the field been fixed yet?" Chihiro called out.

"Auuu~ No, we'll probably only be coming back to it next week. They need to do the trimming and repainting and. . . " Ayumi trailed off, seeing who was with her friend. "Oh, hello! Ayukawa-san right? My name's Ayumi Takahara. I'm from the track-and-field-team!" It was like the collision had never happened.

"'And I'm also this school's officially sanctioned exploding missile'." Chihiro snidely said off-hand.

"Hey, hey, would you stop spreading that title around? I'm already being teased that by my team-mates!" Ayumi rounded on her friend.

"Don't worry, don't worry. It's not like it's bad or anything. Think of the rumors that'll spread to your enemies! They'll think first before competing against you. 'Oh my gosh- it's the Legendary Missile! Run for your lives!'" She looked around at the people walking by. "I mean it's better than say, the title of 'Otamega'." There was an instant stream of hisses and creaking of heads as most of the people within earshot turned their head. Chihiro doubled over in amusement. The other two stood with blank looks on their faces.

"So anyway," she said after she calmed down. "I'm leading our new classmate to see the sights. Wanna come with?"

"Sure. . . " after they started walking Ayumi leaned in towards Chihiro and murmured, "And now I gotta ask, what was up with you this morning? Is it. . .that day again?"

"WHAT? Why the heck would you think that?" Chihiro said in a fake, sing-song surprised voice, rubbing her feet together and swinging her body to and fro in a mock embarrassed manner.

"Hm?" Tenri just looked on cluelessly (with clear question marks on her head) while following behind the two.

"Man, the school's too busted to function. I mean, the library, the field, the roof. . . it's like a storm hit it," Ayumi commented as they passed by the library.

"Hey now, no need to highlight the school's current state to our transfer student. You might scare her off." Chihiro stopped and bowed to Tenri. "On behalf of the school, I am sorry for the mess."

"N-no no, it's no trouble," Tenri found herself waving off the apology.

"C'mon Chihiro, stop teasing Tenri-san." Ayumi chided.

"Well, she's gonna be hearing that a lot soon. Might as well get used to it, eh?" They continued walking. "It ain't like I'm lying – gonna be a lot of messing up and apologizing in the future. You can count on that."

"That's not the point, isn't it? It's- oh never mind." Ayumi rubbed her sore head. Then she cocked her head at Tenri. "Oh, that makes me wonder. . . What made you transfer here Tenri-san? I recognize that uniform. . . it's from that other school in Majima isn't it?" Ayumi rattled off inquisitions off-handedly. Chihiro gazed quickly at her friend then at the transfer student from the corner of her eyes.

"Err. . . " It looked like Tenri was struggling to find the words. A silence fell on the three as she struggled to come up with something to say in her flustered state. Ayumi started to regret asking.

"Idiot, you're not supposed to ask that of first-time acquaintances!" This time it was Chihiro who scolded an apologetic Ayumi. "On behalf of my friend's tactlessness, I would like to apologize-"

"I'm sorry, Tenri-san. It wasn't my business to ask. . . "

"You're damn right it wasn't-" Chihiro ribbed with a broad grin on her face. She shook her head in a "she's always like this" way at Tenri, who again took it with her now-trademark bewilderment.

They passed through corridors, floor by floor, past rooms that were open and some that were locked, past classrooms, clubrooms, storage rooms and study-rooms. Each time, Chihiro would point them out to the transfer student, and sometimes she'd emphasize staying clear or staying away like, "Yeah, the folks on this floor aren't known for their academics. That's why we call it the dropout floor. Best to stay clear." Or "See that room?" Chihiro had pointed at a locked storage room. "Beyond that lies one of the many sex hangouts in this god-forsaken school. You'll want to stay clear, to preserve your innocence. . ." she looked at the transfer student whose eyes were sufficiently widened to be considered comical.

"Like it's been preserved by you telling her - what are you doing Chihiro?" Ayumi asked, walking past and turning to look at her friend seriously. "You're the one trying to discourage her from fully transferring in now."

"No I ain't," replied Chihiro with a raised eye. She waved her wrists at Tenri. "I'm just pointing them out, no sense hiding it from her until 'the right time' or something like that."

"No sense trying to scare her away with icky details like that either." Each friend shook their heads, convinced of the other's cluelessness.

They'd come to the partition dividing the high school and the middle school section. "Still, despite its many faults, Majima School has at least the decency to make a physical barrier between here and the middleschooler section. I can't imagine what'll happen if people crossover. . . The middleschoolers aren't as lazy or perverted as their older selves, thank god," Chihiro observed.

"So the middle school's on the other side?" Tenri peered across the walkway sealed by an iron barricade.

"Yeah." Chihiro noticed an increasing number of students rushing past them towards the same direction. "The way used to be open, but some years ago they decided to close it up for some reason." the president idly scratched her nose, looking in the direction of the next student that had dashed by. "Now the only way in is through the main entrance. . . Damn it, they distracted me. Hey, let's go and follow those guys."

"Huh?" The other two asked. They were busy looking across the walkway that led to the middle-school. Chihiro nodded to the back of another student that had run by. "It looks like something's happening over that way."

"Might just be another delinquent tussle y'know?" Ayumi said in an exasperated tone. "Or one of the other crazy things this school gets up to in broad daylight. . ."

"Well if it is, it should be a nice conclusion to my little tour." She turned to look at Tenri. "You'll want to see this. It's gonna be an almost-everyday occurence at this school. Heck, maybe you'll even see why people're scared of me, too."

"Are people scared of you, Chihiro-san?" Tenri asked fearfully. Chihiro gave her the barest of smiles. "Only when they piss me off." Ayumi shrugged wearily. Chihiro turned to look at her. "Are you gonna contradict me?"

"Not really," Ayumi replied. _Not like I have the energy to. _"By the by, shouldn't you be dwelling on whatever it is is going on?"

There was a crowd of red-uniformed people already gathered near the staircase landing. Each was jostling and pushing against the others as they tried to see the center of the commotion.

"Is it a fight?" "Can't see, dumbass-" "Don't touch me, you-"

"What's it all about, do you know?" a voice asked behind a group of delinquent-looking students. They had their upper buttons uncovered, baring their undershirts and rolling up their sleeves in a careless manner. One of them replied, "I heard it was about Kusunoki again."

"Kusunoki huh?~~" the voice (it was distinctly female though they didn't bother checking) wondered before lowering in pitch to whisper something unintelligible. Then it spoke up again. "So who's fighting her now?"

"Hell if I know! We just got here. Can't see from here, too."

There was an irritated sigh. ". . . Out of the way you useless brainless idiots. . ."

"The fuck you say, bitch?" The shout caused the other onlookers to flinch away, afraid that another fight would erupt. The trio whirled on the source of the voice behind them. They immediately recoiled too, their arms over their heads in terror.

"K-K-Kosaka!" "It's the damn Kosaka!" "The Demon of 2-B!"

Chihiro flashed them a sunny smile, her arms akimbo. Behind her cowered two other girls who gaped at the situation anxiously. "Hello brainlesses. I forget, do I know your names? Hold that thought, I don't really care. Move aside." She ordered them them fearlessly.

"W-w-we're not scared of you, b-b-" They couldn't stop themselves from shaking.

"'B-b-'? Is that a new mating sound for you hams?"

The one with the marginally better courage drew himself up, "Y-y-you can't order us around Kosaka! We're not gonna-"

Abruptly there was a flash of killing intent so intense it sent the frail ones whimpering and the others blown away. The trio huddled to the ground in fear as the gathered crowd toppled like dominoes, some shivering and some fainting altogether. Only Chihiro was left standing, as even Ayumi and Tenri had collapsed in primal fear at what had been unleashed. Chihiro hadn't moved her arms from their positions and stood ramrod straight as if enduring a strong wind.

The class president raised her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders, "Brr. . . that was a really strong one from the Lady Kusunoki. It's like an early winter." She looked down at her two companions who were rolling around and whimpering in a daze. "Aw c'mon guys, it's not that bad. That at least cleared the way for us to see the fight up close!" She gave each a hand up, and after steadying Ayumi, who was still rolling around like a tipsy drunk, Chihiro guided the two by the hand over the toppled bodies of the crowd.

"OW!"

"Sorry – but not really-"

Uncaring of the ones she stepped over – deliberately or not.

OoOoOoOo

Hakua flexed her invisible muscles.

Hours of daily intake from a reluctant Host had given her enough energy to at least reform and regenerate her upper body.

A devil's anatomical layout was a curious thing. She'd have known the specifics had she taken up specialist classes at Academy. As it was, the only thing she knew about her present condition was that she was well on her way to full recovery and re-materialization. Reconstituting her upper limbs was a good start, even if she couldn't physically affect things in the human world yet.

Along the way she hoped to regain at least some of her magical abilities. Being tethered to the Soul Casket was disadvantageous if the Host was a crass, insensitive and sorry excuse for a human being.

"Tch. That ending sucked. There was no resolution! Why the Hell did they leave it at the climax? Just because she's a sub-character and the writers didn't have the strength to fully flesh her route out-"

Said human being was, by the way, her only visible ticket to success as a member of Hell's Runaway Squad. And that didn't make it any more comforting to this royal-haired prodigy, even as she'd started practicing her grand speech for when Hell would finally accord her her medal.

Hakua flitted, ghostlike, above the spot where the Capturing God sat on his usual spot at the rooftop. She flexed her arms over, up and behind, relearning aerial movements forgotten in the entropy of the Casket. She kept her eyes from straying to Katsuragi's figure splayed languidly on the bench.

"Argh!" Keima shouted, holding the PFP aloft irately. "Ten glass coins left to go? Where did the developers get this lame idea of 'unlocking' routes? It's just all gimmicks!"

Mostly because his crazed prattling were just enough for her to bear, coupled with the fact that she barely had any idea (and she never wanted to find out) what in Hell Katsuragi was talking about.

She looked towards the eastern part of the school grounds. Unfortunately, as she'd observed, her climactic battle with the two Runaway Spirits hadn't gone completely according to plan. Although the Containment Sphere minimized the magical outbursts borne from the exchange, some of it was intense enough to spill over to the mortal realm, causing a lot of unexplained structural damage to the school. That didn't spell a failure in this District Chief's book, but it was something to consider for future captures nonetheless.

Hakua stared at her hands, transluscent in the daylight. As soon as she recovered, there was paperwork to write up, a report to file, a trip to Hell for rebriefing, a research project to pass, a thank-you gif-

An explosion of _something _broke her reverie. Waves of negative energy splashed her form, swatting her aside in one second. She was literally blown away, like a helpless kite, managing to phase through three floors down before she recovered.

"What in Hell-"

Uttering a choice Hellian Oath, Hakua phased back to the rooftop and shouted at Keima, "Th-this is bad, Katsuragi! A runaway spirit may be loose!"

"No." Keima said shortly.

"While we can't do anything about bystanders, I'm sure Hell will- wait, what? How can you say that so calmly, com- Katsuragi?" The she-devil demanded.

"Again, no." Keima rubbed his fingers on his forehead back and forth. He pointed at the other students in the rooftops, his eyes still on the PFP screen. "See those guys?" Following his finger, Hakua saw the scattered groups of students doing something. . .

Hell's cold breath, she couldn't see far yet. She coasted forward to take a better look. She quirked her eyebrows as the students came into view. The lot of them were sprawled on the ground, some of them huddling to themselves like a cold wind had passed, and some groaning and crossing their arms over their heads in agony.

She zoomed back. Katsuragi had put both his hands back on the PFP. "I don't get it, it just proves my point. This seems to be the Runaway Spirit's power! The feeling I'm getting from the energy's unmistakable! How can you just sit there!" _I certainly wouldn't, if I were able to._

Keima raised a finger as if silencing the devil. "Observe."

Just then, another wave caught her, and she, still unprepared, rode it all the way to the edge of the roof. She took another choice curse out of her vocabulary and flitted back to Keima.

"That- is the distinct power of killing intent. You ever heard that term before?" Keima adjusted his glasses in a professor-like manner.

"Sure, it's not wholly uncommon to hear of it. . . like say, reading it inside the Handbook **of **_**Runaway Spirits**_stating how _**Runaway Spirits**_emit those?" Hakua so wanted to whack him. She missed the feeling of Katsuragi's body crumpling to the ground.

"Oh really? Well I'm sure you know how each type of aura isn't necessarily the same. There are some crucial distinctions, the odd patterns, perhaps different feelings, making each unique to the person who uses such. Yes, I said person. These-"

Another wave crashed into her, though third time seemed to be the charm. She only sailed through a clear arc on the air before righting herself some feet away.

"-particular waves of killing intent come from _a_ person, which is _so _familiar in feeling to the students of the school-" he waved his wrist their way when the moans of the dying filled the air. "-Our resident superwoman, the Warrior with the Heart of Ice and a Will of Steel, Kusonoki Kasuga."

"A human? You expect me to believe such powerful negative forces are being emitted by a mere human?" She couldn't believe it; it boggled her mind.

"What can I say? Humans are spontaneous, complicated creatures, even if they're pallid representations of my world. You shouldn't be surprised to see their unexpected qualities pop up, you're a devil, right? Must've had the time to do tons of research. . ."

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised. And I suppose you're distancing yourself from that definition yourself?" She suddenly felt very tired.

"I may have _human-_like qualities sure, but," For the first time in their conversation, Keima Katsuragi lifted his gaze from his PFP to haughtily lock eyes with her. "I'm not entirely human either, as you can plainly see."

She broke the contact first, shrugging her transparent shoulders. Well, what else could she do? If she was right, and she hoped she wasn't, then that'd only be a few hundred more pages to write, assuming the idiot had the foresight to escape.

And the possible suspension plus punishment ranging from vault-clearing to ground-zero exploring, and the thrice-damned heckling she'd receive from the other unpleasant demons like that Nora. . .

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I do hope you're right. Wouldn't want to draw Heaven's eyes on top of my p-p-promotion. . ."

"Trust me, it's just Kusunoki. Probably beating some poor saps within inches of their lives. And you should also trust in me taking a real Runaway Spirit situation seriously – if there was." Hakua was sure the mortal had glanced at her then.

"Though worry not, my devilish torment," Keima concluded, his practiced hands tapping away at the buttons. "I am predicting no Real life flags in the near future for me. So we probably won't even know if a Runaway Spirit's really loose until you get out of this thing. You should relax for a bit more time then; in fact, would you mind not recovering at all? That'd be _so_ helpful."

"I'm not going away, Katsuragi. You see that sword above both our heads? Until that's gone, I'll pester you over and over and over again, until the quota is reached and Hell will no longer have need of your services, making our contract fulfilled and its conditions null and void. . ."

"I liked it better when you spoke with more _moe - _or didn't speak at all_. . . _" Keima stood from his seat, forcing Hakua to follow.

OoOoOoOo

"There are some times. . . "

The self-proclaimed renegade gave his pre-battle speech. His hands were out this time, no longer tucked into his pocket lazily but really, out, an unusual thing for this renegade. His red-rimmed eyes that had made many scramble to flee the maniac (who was also "drunk!" or "both!") were blackened by the rigours of battle. Strangely, his knuckles were still pristine.

". . . where even the best pitcher can get struck out. . . I just have to get in on the bullpen," He repeated it to himself like a Buddhist mantra.

The action, which had slowed around him, sped up, just in time for another wave of super killing intent to blast him in the face, knocking him into the nearby windowsill and giving him another blackened spot. "Bfuh!"

"Guhaah!"

Two or three bodies were thrown past him, bouncing on the polished floor until it hit the pile of bodies, adding to the total body count. The self-proclaimed renegade looked at the center of that storm of killing intent, pus and tears blinding his vision as he beheld the magnificent figure of their nemesis, Kasuga of the Pure-fists.

She was tall, silent, her posture offering no opening, yet inviting attacks all the same. One might think her a carved marble statue from her skin, but these delinquents knew better: what pulsed inside that Ice Maiden was the fiery heart of the warrior.

And that was why they continued challenging her.

"As one, fellows! Attack!"

Like well-trained zombies the others stood, all in their ruined clothes covered in stray spit and blood, their weapons of war broken and some shoved right up their-

A particularly feisty fellow charged, his fearless smile a temporary inspiration to the others. He came, fists flailing, and Kasuga met him half-way in his stride.

Fwump! Wpack!

"Amazing. . . " the self-proclaimed renegade whispered in amazement, as that guy lost another two of his teeth and was slammed back to the pile for his trouble. "She didn't even use any offensive moves. . . not even her fists! She is a goddess. . . "

A goddess of war perhaps? If so, he decided as he too took the plunge, let me worship you. . .

OoOoOoOo

((

These creatures waste their time. They fight the unbeatable, scale the impossible, face the insurmountable, like getting that Prinny figurine in the crane game at the arcade.

They waste _my _time. I have no time for these paltry attacks of theirs. I have more important things to attend to. It does me no comfort that one of these is entirely for the sake of these trash. It was bad enough for them to interrupt me when the pet shop informed me of new arrivals, but now I had a duty, a duty a Kasuga could not shirk.

I looked behind me, where the crowd of people that had gathered were all sprawled on the ground. The warrior's shame crossed my heart like a puppy's anguished cry; my killing intent, newly enhanced to undermine and intimidate demons, had affected their human souls in turn.

"She's lookin' away! Get'er!"

But I had a duty.

I let loose the first variation: Frosted Flakes on the Windowsill. A blast of even more potent killing intent washed over the attackers, making them scream and shiver as if a cold winter's wind had blown through that corridor. As soon as they collapsed, I shut it off. Anymore and icicles would start materializing on their bodies.

I turned to look back. Some of them _did _have snowflakes on their bodies now. A shame so overwhelming passed over me like nausea, lighting up the fire in my cheeks as if those cats under the bridge had met my eyes, save for the fact that it wasn't a pleasant nausea.

I murmured an apology to them in my heart. This just meant I wasn't that trained enough in the Kasuga arts. I hadn't become restrained enough. I became determined for redoubled training in the fut-

What a blunder!

I lashed out with my feet, using spiritual reinforcement to enhance the blow. It was an unconscious act, drilled into my actions by my father's training. The one who had taken ahold of my ankles had his face completely caved in. I watched in shock as his shattered face muttered something to a "goddess" of his, before he collapsed to his final rest.

I am shamed!

))

OoOoOoOo

For every squish, splat or bone-crushing crunch, there was an equivalent "Sorry!" "Please excuse our rudeness", and other variations thereof.

Her two companions were doing so to the many people Chihiro was (intentionally or not) stepping on as they headed straight for the source of all that killing intent.

"You don't have to apologize to them. They're probably idiots anyway." The thoughtless person in question said.

"We're not doing this for you, we're doing it for them." Beside her, Tenri-san nodded in a manner that was in contrast to her previously timid demeanor.

"Whatever you say." Along the way they had been blasted every other moment with killing intent, stirring the fallen multitude like fallen leaves. Strangely, they no longer felt obligated to bow in submission to whatever inhuman creature was there waiting for them at the source of it, though whether or not it was due to Chihiro taking point in front of them, the two couldn't say.

She was still pulling them by the hand. Any efforts to disengage were met by a tightening of grip, and eventually they lost the motivation to escape her grasp. Chihiro led them on, striding fearlessly against the harsh cold.

They arrived just in time to see Kusunoki land a solid kick into some poor delinquent's face. Tenri heard Chihiro's low, appreciative whistle. They could almost glimpse the guys' deformed face before he disappeared, rolling like a bowling pin into the pile of bodies. Hair whirling, Kusunoki rounded on them, cold eyes glinting.

It was then that Chihiro dropped their hands, bringing up her hands together in front of her to start a slow, deliberate clap.

"Well done, well done, Kasuga-senpai. An excellent display of the indomitability of the Kasuga Style. Well done," she repeated. Her companions looked at each other uncertainly.

"She didn't bother telling you, but Chihiro's actually known to Kusunoki-senpai. She's usually first to the scene of any fights senpai's in, clapping and urging her on." Ayumi whispered in a conspiratory manner to Tenri. "Of course, there's a whole other reason why she's always there-"

"So will you accept me as a student now?"

"No." was the short, cold reply.

Ayumi shrugged with her shoulders at Tenri.

"Aw c'mon! I've been pestering you since. . . last month? You'll be graduating soon, senpai, and then the only times I'll see your wondrous form of battle will be in your school, of which I've yet to be a student," Chihiro begged, and she would have gotten down on all fours and bowed, except for Ayumi stopping her with an exasperated sigh.

Chihiro just had to take everything to the next level. Not that she thought her friend wasn't seriously getting into the whole martial arts thing, it was just the way she begged that screamed "not serious" and "mocking" that set her off.

It was good that Kasuga-senpai, in all the weeks that her friend had mock-begged, fake-cried and play-acted grovelling, hadn't picked up on the sarcasm. Or else her friend would have become the new body decorating "The Wall of Sinners" in front of Kasuga-senpai's classroom.

OoOoOoOo

"So what about this then?"

"Oh that?" Keima didn't give it even a cursory glance. He released his left hand and waved at the "Wall of Sinners". Instead of the normal view of windows arrayed periodically around the wall, there were holes in the glass and cracked portions in the wall that, to Hakua, looked suspiciously like the shapes of humans. Bits of plaster and cardboard were taped to some sections in places, though it wasn't enough to completely cover the mess. "There's a particular school legend tied to this thing. The souls of delinquents past who died idiotic deaths. . . end up on the Wall of Sinners as punishment for their idiocy." He then pointed with his right at the room next to where they were walking, fluidly keeping up a constant stream of commands into his PFP. Then Keima shrugged.

As the God refused to elaborate, Hakua failed to catch the significance of that action, and only tilted her ghostly head in bewilderment.

OoOoOoOo

"I cannot train thou. Thou hast not the spirit of the warrior; I do not see it in thee." The trio watched Kusunoki walk deliberately past them, dismissing Chihiro's plea quickly and handily.

"I can do it, I do have the spirit! Mine is the spirit of the samurai! I even have the rudimentary killing intent package!" Chihiro proclaimed. She tried releasing it, but Ayumi smacked her on the shoulder.

"Do not lie. Thou cannot claim to be what thou art not. In time thou wilst learn the truth of thy ardour; it is the unhealthy blaze of youth." Kusunoki glanced at the bodies beside them and frowned.

Chihiro made the best impression of a childish pout. Ayumi could feel the laughter threatening to roll off her friend in waves while Tenri only looked at the whole exchange with fascinated trepidation. It had been a long day.

"I see. But I won't give up! You _will _accept me as a student, senpai! Don't you forget it!" she challenged the Kasuga's departing back. Kusunoki gave no reply.

"Y'know Chihiro, you can laugh now." Ayumi made a deep, long sigh. Her friend chuckled, shaking her head, "How did that look, by the way?" Chihiro wondered out loud.

Ayumi didn't bother to answer that. "I'll say it again: I have no idea what you're getting out of this constant begging."

Chihiro turned to the transfer student, who shrank back in surprise. "What did you think, Tenri-san? How did one of this school's infamous personalities feel to ya?" Tenri found herself doing idle things with her forefingers.

"Um. . . how do I say it, she's. . . old-fashioned sounding? And she feels dangerous," she added as a wry afterthought.

"Oh yeah, those weird inflections of hers. Well, she's only been talking like that recently, I don't know why she's decided to go traditional-sounding now." Chihiro paused, as if somehow deep in thought.

"Urrg. . . " The sounds of cracked bones righting themselves and shoes scuffling on the ground could be heard in the space where Kasuga-senpai had left the delinquents, and the two girls' eyes widened upon seeing most of the delinquents get on their feet. Chihiro, still in thought, absentmindedly turned to face them.

"A-A-as expected of Lady Kasuga, her power is unmatched in the whole of Majima!" There was a general chorus of assent. Masochists, the lot of them, Chihiro thought.

"Hmm. I guess no matter the passage in time, the idiot will remain the idiot, the delinquent the delinquent," she called out loudly, making sure everyone in the corridor heard him. "And the loser remains the loser!"

"K-Kosaka you bitch!" "Chihiro, are you nuts?"

As if they'd been renewed by the taunt, the bruised lot of troublemakers started lumbering towards the class president, who didn't move an inch from her spot. Ayumi could almost taste the bloodbath that was sure to come; Tenri was about to faint from the stimuli of too much tension in the air. "Sh-shouldn't we apologize-?"

Chihiro stood her ground dauntlessly. She didn't feel arrogant, like she was looking down on them, but neither did she feel scared, as if stepped on the lion's tail. Rather, she smiled with good humor at the ones who were now claiming to take her head.

"Or rather, thou should prepare to offer thine heads. . . "

"So you're becoming traditional like your idol?" Ayumi exclaimed.

"Ch-Chihiro-san, a-are you sure you'll be fine. . . ?"

"Be not afraid, transfer student. One second is all I'll need." Chihiro flashed them a smile devoid of fear.

"Don't be so unrealistic!" Ayumi cried.

"S-so cool. . ."

"You actually think that's cool!" Ayumi raised her arms as she turned to Tenri.

"As expected of the great Ayumi, your near-instant ripostes have gone to lightspeed."

"Well then, Tenri-san, you shouldn't be watching this," Ayumi shielded the transfer student's eyes from the vision of imminent chaos. "Let's go back home and let the idiots battle amongst each other. . ."

"Wait, am I an idiot too!"

"You're not too far from light speed yourself, Chihiro. . . " Ayumi put her face in both her hands.

"Sorry. I'm only following your lead." Chihiro let out her tongue.

"What are we, the audience in a comedy show here?" cried the delinquents, who had silently been watching the whole exchange. "Come on and bring it, bitch!"

"Oh you are so gonna be eating those words. . . " Chihiro turned back to them.

"_Will _she be okay?" Tenri repeated dubiously. Ayumi gave her a helpless smile, learned through many scuffles she'd been made to witness as Chihiro's constant companion. "She'll be fine. Not gonna beat them in one second, but. . . yeah, she'll be fine."

"Guhaa!" "How's that you useless, brainless morons! Taste the fury of the Kosaka fighting style!"

"She's the best at what she enjoys doing. And that's a lot of things." The two watched with an assembly of people reviving and reforming behind them as Chihiro stepped right into the fray.

OoOoOoOo

"I'm telling you, Katsuragi, I don't want to hear anything more about this!" Hakua wanted to shut off her hearing; the idiot was babbling on and on about his obsession. There was a spell for that (but she didn't have magic), and she could cover her ears (she hadn't reformed yet). She could also have flown farther away, but the Casket required proximity to function.

"As long as you're hanging out in my personal space, you'll have to bear with listening to me," Keima explained. He had decided to head back home as all of the games he'd brought had been guided to sucessful endings. "This is a rare situation: to have someone able to listen to your every thought without them being able to do anything about it. You should be honored to have me speak."

"We can talk about other things. Details of the contract maybe. . . even a description of Hell? Its history perhaps? I'd prefer to be the one talking," Hakua pleaded.

"So do I. Now listen – this might become necessary for you to know once you get less gassier and more solid. It is important to the route that flags are triggered; I believe I've said this to you before. Under the right circumstances or with the right decisions, one might reach an encounter, which leads to a flag, which leads to routes. Should one desire to avoid flags, one must take the desolate approach and make the choice with the least chance of an encounter.

"But as always, the Real interferes. REAL LIFE FLAGS ARE DANGEROUS!

"I have become exceedingly aware of all the possible flags that one might trigger in the Real. I have made it my business to know of these and avoid them as much as possible. Even the slightest event or communication I receive from others I meticulously evaluate, so as to see if I'm somehow being dragged into a route.

"This is why I had spent a peaceful life before your kind decided to barge in – that is the unavoidable flag. I hope never to have one again. Now I said it would be necessary for you to know, once you do get out of this amulet, I'll have you limit your interactions around me. Stay out of sight, hidden. Don't trigger unnecessary flags, in fact, don't trigger any at all. _Don't ever come to me _unless there's another capture."

"That seems like a sordid lifestyle Katsuragi." Hakua observed. She was ashamed to note she had been able to understand most of what the idiot had said. "Paranoid even. Do you really think you would stand to lose a lot were you to trigger 'flags'?"

"As of the moment, yes." Keima replied smoothly, brushing stray dust from his shoulder. "It is vital to my existence as the Capturing God. I hope you understand that above all . . . Hakua."

"Oh I do understand. But that doesn't mean I'll have to listen to what you say. I don't care about silly things like 'flags'." Hakua huffed, crossing her arms in front of her.

"If you understand at least . . . " Keima said doubtfully. He had reached another landing in the staircase. He'd stopped, remembering he had forgotten one of his PFP peripherals in his desk. "You have no idea how fickle these flags can be."

Sighing tiredly, he walked towards the corridor. That peripheral couldn't be left there; some buffoon would steal or ruin it just to spite him. He spoke, just before rounding the corner:

"Each and every one of them hiding behind pernicious encounters . . . the Real's filled with them. You never know when one will emerge out of the next. . . corner-"

Keima's brain quickly took in the situation – after rounding the corner, he came face-to-face with a girl, almost heading to collision. Luckily, he had thought, he could simply move right and avoid bumping into her altogether.

Unfortunately, he'd somehow set the girl off. After sliding to the right, he felt something grab his arm, then he lost control of his feet, and then off-balance, he was lifted up into the air and finally he felt the rush of wind as he started flying.

"_Aah . . . somehow I was just begging for that eh, Real?"_

WHUMP!

Despite the aftershocks that coursed through the Casket, Hakua broke into a smile. The sight of the idiot's body flung headfirst into the far wall made for a soothing mind-balm.

* * *

Author's Note: Long time no see there! It's been almost six months since I last properly uploaded a story, and boy, time sure flies fast. In the intervening period, I've been promoted to a regular at my job, the lady-friend Vivian has graduated and finally entered the work-force, and I still don't have a computer!

Shocking, you might say. How is this going to affect future stories? The world demands to know!

I have to admit, the job is hectic and most days I just want to get home and lie on the couch with a stein of cola and sleep, leaving no time at all for any other activity like writing. Heck even my gaming's been cut down, I've had to unsubscribe from WoW, though my eroge/galge playing continues intermittently. Looking forward to _Rewrite_, key's new title; I'll have to see if the new scenario writers can hold a candle to the likes of _Clannad, Planetarian _or _Little Busters!_.

After brainwashing- er. . . brainstorming sessions with Vivian, I've decided on one compromise. As long as I'm over at her house, which she's planning to move out from soon, I can use her computer to type in and upload stories. The visits will be sporadic, but guaranteed to happen until I explicitly say so.

Nice, huh? What this means is hopefully I can get the next Anarchy down next week, and probably another chapter of Weiss, as well as some other new stories. I'll still be keeping Vivian's published works under my account, with her permission. And I've also given her permission to update or publish her own here.

So here's to a productive year!

Now as to the story itself. I'll be glad to hear of any ideas, feedback or any other commentaries on it. I'll be posting author's thoughts at the end of every chapter from now on, telling why I chose that particular event or this particular happenstance.

For this particular chapter, I'd like to draw attention to:

**Chihiro Kosaka –** as hinted at in an earlier chapter, Chihiro has a new role in this fanfiction. She is class president, and also sports a new attitude. I feel it was necessary for the endgame I'm planning out, since she has a special role to play there. Tell me what you think, and if possible, any ideas as to how she'll showcase "unpredictability". I'll message and credit ya next time if ever I use it.

**Kusunoki Kasuga –** also has a new role, purely to distinguish her route from the manga and to fit into my endgame. Though it might be minor, she still has a role in the end.

**Elsie –** conspicuously absent but still in the tag for the story? But she's been there all the time! A lot of people have messaged me about this, and I can assure you, she is there. In fact, one of the reasons I put her there wasn't that I hated her, but to forestall the creation of an important OC that I would have had to flesh out.

**Previous chapter –** what previous chapter? What glue are you guys sniffing? What? What...? O_o

Arduously long Author's note aside, keep an eye out for more chapters/stories from yours truly.

Merlin out.


	18. Heaven or Hell? Fight!

Keima was used to abuse. Somehow, his body was well-trained to accept all kinds of brutal treatment, whether it was a stray skillet missile hurled by his mother, or a certain old man's obscenities, a certain devil's spells going haywire, or more recently being shocked by millions of volts of electricity every second. He didn't know where this fortitude came from; he only knew it was useful when it counted the most.

The "accident", as he figured, when the enthusiastic girl had hurled him head-first into the wall, was a great time to pause and reconsider his current schedule. As long as he kept his head down, he would avoid more features of the encounter: an apology or recrimination, either way it would turn into a Real encounter bordering on a flag.

"I am sorry for my action. Art thou injured?"

Damn it. He feigned exhaustion, allowing his body to hang limply on the wall. Ah, but his back was hurting a little now. He felt the presence near and its hands touch him. "_Please go away please go away"_

Ah well, he had other plans for these contingencies. After he was summarily extracted from the wall, he kept his body slack, his head turned to the side as if in a daze.

"I apologize for my action." _You said that already. _Rather, why was she speaking so old-fashionedly? The presence was still holding him up by the front of his shirt. He chanced a peek with the corner of his eyes.

_Whoa! _He averted his eyes quickly. It was that "ice warrior" or something, Kasuga! Dangerous, dangerous. While he didn't believe half of the stories being said about her, he had the sense to retain caution when faced by a student with such infamy. As long as he didn't antagonize her, as he'd probably done before she'd thrown him, he would get off without further incident.

Mustering up his best mask, Keima brought his hand to his head, moaning absently, before turning to look straight at Kasuga's face. "Ah. Kasuga-san!" He saw a brief instant of flush red before he was slammed back against the wall. _Well done, Keima. _

_Never mind your now-aching back! _He gritted his teeth, turning it into a ghost of a smile as he spoke again, "I'll be on my way now." He summoned up his best nondescript facial expression, bowed, and turned to descend the stairs.

"Halt, thou student. What manner of pendant be that on thy neck?" Kasuga asked. He could feel the piercing gaze on his chest, as if it were a tangible dart. His hands went up quickly to his tear-drop pendant, too late, he'd noticed it had fallen out of his shirt from all the slamming.

He quickly stuffed it back, hiding it from view. "Family heirloom! Punishment game from mother! Bye now!" he explained hurriedly, again giving her an awkward, average grin and a farewell bow before making his way down.

_No flag no flag no flag_

As he uttered his mantra to himself, he distinctly felt Kasuga's cold, persistent scrutiny on his back until he disappeared out of view. He shivered.

OoOoOoOo

((

As I sunk into self-reflection rituals I imposed on myself at the family compound, my father returned to ask me of my day.

I had no idea what my ordinary days would mean to him. As a Kasuga, what did it matter what my day was like?

Undoubtedly sensing the question I formed in my mind, my father shook his head. "Remember the code of the Kasuga, Kusunoki."

_To always be human._

In between the training I was receiving to enhance my current style with demon-killing techniques and artifacts, I also heard the legends he had of the art.

That demons existed, yes, the ancients knew. Some bargained or prostrated themselves for the power these beings could grant.

After self-reflection, my father drilled me on my swordsmanship forms. It was something wholly knew to me; I was only used to my fists. I raised the bamboo sword.

Some demons were benevolent; beings that illuminated as terrible Amaterasu. But most demons were evil, harking from the unholy realm of Yomi.

"How many times must you repeat it? Your right's too exposed!" I bore the sharp sting of failure.

The ancients knew enough of them to stay out of their way when they didn't need them, or call out to them if favors were demanded.

"We will never know what dark, debased things the Ancient Enemy could bring forth. The scrolls tell of dark ages. . . "

In time, the ancients learned not to trust demons. They began to make war on them.

"Never," Rap. "Overextend." Rap. "Yourself." Rap! Rap!

Knowing little of demons' craft, they made even more bargains to aid themselves. The demons were only too happy to oblige.

"Good! Now switch to defense! Brace yourself for my full killing intent!"

"The Kasuga learned from their mistake. 'Tis a fool who turns into the one you destroy."

Favors were besought of the benevolent demons. Great artifacts of unmatched power. The demons were driven back, for a time.

"That's enough. You've done well."

But then it was discovered that such artifacts were easy to pervert. Evil seeped into holy shrines, poisoning the good demons' words.

"The Kasuga learned then. No agent of another are we, we fight as ourselves, for ourselves."

Great families of the three traditions arose, all united to the cause of demon-hunting. They hunted in secret, for the demons thrived in the shadows.

I breathed in the night-time air, standing before one of our ponds. I saw ripples form from the falling leaves.

But that was not the end-all. There are hunters from the third who rejected normalcy, pushing their bodies, their known abilities to the limit.

"Abominations. Some became as new demons themselves. It was considered good practice among them to intermarry in the family, preserving the purity of the blood."

Soon demon-hunter hunted demon-hunter. The sins that demons espoused enmeshed them, flinging them headfirst into secret wars.

"The greatest sin was Pride."

The Kasuga are one of the few scion families left. And we are proud to proclaim that we preserved our traditions to this day.

I stared at the moonlit reflection of my face. It shimmered momentarily before disappearing.

"Something odd struck me about a student in my school, father." I voiced my doubts. The basic detecting arts taught to me had alerted me to something.

"If what you say is true, then we cannot ignore it." My father was bone-tired from training me, but in the moon-bare dark he seemed reborn.

"I shall look into it more, father."

"Good girl. Perhaps we should return to training you in detection. We cannot fathom how many walk about undetected."

"I shall not disappoint thee." I bowed deeply.

"And lose that manner of talking. It's unbecoming of a lady." He retired.

But father. . . !

))

OoOoOoOo

"Here we are today at the match between Godofcapture and KeimaK in this, the final round of the Command, Conquer and Love grand tournament! This match has been a long time coming, ladies and gentlemen, for both players.

"Godofcapture, with his favored Gold Digging Initiative, has faced numerous challenges along the way, but his sound grasp of Route basics and unchallenged mastery of scouting techniques has led him to victory time and time again.

"The crowd favorite, and the previous winner of this tournament, KeimaK is famous for his blitz strategies involving the infamous, yet-to-be fixed Not Out to Dig faction. Will he achieve True Ending once more?

"The winner shall receive recognition as the best CCL player for this year, and receive a complimentary prize of games or game hardwares of his choice.

"Here comes the referee, Keima Katsuragi, starting the match. The virtual field will be prepped ladies and gentlemen, and we once again remind you to stay in the safe. . . "

Keima Katsuragi, the janitor, peered from the walkway between two buildings, the mop in his hand dipped momentarily into a bucket half-filled with water. The flash of afterburners lit the tiled floor below as one of KeimaK's spy jets flew above him.

"A penny for your thoughts?"

Beside him stood the most peculiar thing in this dreamworld. Whereas the whole field was filled with Keimas and Katsuragis and Capturing Gods of all shapes, sizes and professions watching the ongoing battle live, this one was the only difference, the only one who looked different.

"It", Keima hesitated to call it a she, was shorter than him, reaching up to his chest. It had long, black hair bundled up in a pony-tail, with the queerest of ornaments, a cartoonish skull, covering one side of its head. Around its shoulders was perched a raiment of pink, and the janitor Keima could see it shift and change as if a wind had blown by. Finally, the creature held a broom in its hand, making this the only contention he had with the creature.

The creature had tried to help him, brushing over his wet floor with the broom, to which he'd protested and beat it over the head with his mop.

"Just watching the match for a while." The same spy jet flew back, this time going under the walkway, closely trailed on the ground below by three of Godofcaptures' raptor-buggies. "While waiting for my refill of water- I sent you to get that didn't I?"

"B-but it's heavy! You really expect poor old me to lift something that I really can't?" The creature looked upset.

"You could have rolled it on the floor."

A flash of inspiration lit its face. "Oh, that's right! Clever of you, mister!" The creature started walking away, paused, then doubled back with a furious expression, which only came out to a cute, childish pout, "Meanie! Meanie! Taking advantage of me since I'm small and not too bright! Meanie!"

She threw a ranting tantrum then and there, disrupting his already polished floor. Keima sighed and calmed her down, dragging his own bucket with him. "Alright, calm down. I was joking."

"That was really mean. . . "

"Well, I'll lift the bucket, and you carry your own mop from storage. I seem to remember having a spare there. As I've said, we don't need a broom anymore, so you can leave that behind."

"I'm glad to be of help then!"

Keima the janitor sighed. After refilling the two buckets, he held them on each hand, then urged the creature to the closet, where it joyfully shouted upon seeing a spare mop for her. Carrying its broom and his mop side by side, to which Keima could only shrug helplessly, they returned to the walkway, where there was a fierce firefight starting below between heavily armed soldiers.

As the rat-tat-tats and the explosions filled the air, Keima and the creature set to work finishing up the floor. He was annoyed to see the creature splattering and wasting a little water while mopping, but at least it seemed to be putting out a genuine effort to clean. And she still hadn't put down her broom.

"By the way, strange creature, what's your name? Mine's Keima."

The creature looked up at him as it hummed a pleasant tune to itself. Pausing in its work, it beamed and pointed a finger at itself. "I have a lot of names. But my first and favorite name is Els-"

The rest of her answer was drowned out by a blinding flash of light and an ear-shattering sound.

In that morning, Keima Katsuragi was surprised to feel he had no morning wood. Which was good for him, by the by. It meant no longer having to do "it".

OoOoOoOo

"Man, why do they got to start out the girl as dominative then being submissive towards the end. It sure does defeat the purpose. . . " Chihiro Kosaka commented during break as she leafed through an H-magazine, hidden inside a history textbook's covers. Some boys were inching to get a sneak-peek behind her without being noticed; if they were, Hell on earth would be unleashed. It was balanced by the fact that their class president brought the best material to school.

Ayumi, who was sitting beside her and purposely tuning out most of her friend's idle ramblings, was hunched over her notes, cramming up for an upcoming quiz. Behind her, by edict of the class president, their new friend Tenri was seated, elegantly reading her own notes on history.

"Boring." Chihiro tossed the magazine to Ayumi, where it landed directly on her notes. She shrieked, tossing it behind her, where Tenri also made a soft "eep!" and threw the magazine as far as she could. Like ravenous piranhas the boys that had been watching swarmed over the piece of chum thrown their way. To the side, Maestro was praising their "youth" while making a speech to a gathered crowd.

"Honestly, Chihiro, while it's all well and good that you've aced any test they've given us so far-"

"Study. And when not studying, study some more. Work hard is the go-to line of this century." Chihiro shrugged as she pulled out another questionable magazine from her bag.

"Yeeh, you brought another one! How are you _not _traumatizing Tenri-san?" Said person shook her head in a negative, trying to appease the incoming argument. She'd learned to expect this after days of spending time with her new friends.

She felt lucky to have immediately gotten friends this soon after transfer.

Ayumi still looked affronted, her homework temporarily forgotten. Chihiro made a shushing sound and revealed the cover to her friends. Immediately, it sent the two of them into a blushing, steaming mess as the class president giggled and tossed the magazine to the pile of boys like a piece of meat. It sailed right over the gaming Otamega's head.

The results were instantaneous.

"Eww!" "What the fuck is that!"

"Get it away from me!" "BL! BL!"

"Still the art looks good. . . "

"You touched it! You touched it didn't you!"

"Throw it!"

"No, burn it!"

"Kill it with fire!"

Ayumi looked accusingly at a still laughing Chihiro, while Tenri looked dazed and blushing red in the face from the event. Suddenly, Tenri cried out, before covering her mouth immediately in embarrassment. Her two friends looked at her and followed her eyes to the entrance.

"Aw man. . . " Ayumi dropped her head on the desk.

"Kasuga-senpai!" Chihiro shouted joyfully. "You've accepted me at last!" She bounded out of her seat. At the sound of "Kasuga" all of the men in the room stopped what they were doing and looked at the entrance with evident alarm.

Even Katsuragi, who quickly looked back at his PFP screen. While also tightening his headphones nervously over his ear.

OoOoOoOo

((

No doubt about it.

The new techniques father taught me on the detection of demons has definitely confirmed it.

There is certainly something off about that student, and that can only mean one thing.

Demon-possession.

I reviewed what I had read of the ancient scroll in my mind. It said that the host would be totally isolated, lacking true friendships with its fellows while it slaved away at a task the demon had set. The host would continue to languish as long as the demon was still inside.

There was undeniable proof in front of me. The other people must have sensed the urgency of my task, as they scattered before me in the corridors, granting me unimpeded view of the target.

I resolved to go deeper. Father taught me never to assume, not until there was plenty of undeniable proof.

))

OoOoOoOo

Keima went to the bathroom during the next break. After getting out, he ran face-to-face into Kusunoki, who stared at him as if he were a lab specimen. Fortunately, practice kicked in and he was able to keep a shriek of surprise from his face before he smiled crookedly and left.

Keima took quick, big chunks of his home-made lunch, carrying it to his mouth with a speed that could pass through a whirling fan. He'd given himself two minutes to finish it all, just enough time for his PFP to download the rest of Kusakabe's route. His chopstick paused in midair, his mouth open and his eyes drooping in exasperation when he sensed the presence behind him. He turned and beamed at Kusunoki before quickly packing up and leaving.

Next day, Keima had just entered school and was in the shoe lockers. He sighed, as if finding something that he'd already expected. Kusunoki, with arms crossed, was standing in front of his locker. Everyone who'd just entered and were making their way there did a double take, eyes wide, as they inched away from the visible threat. Kusunoki remained cool and composed as she stared at Keima.

Keima steeled himself. It was break, and he hoped to lose Kusunoki on his way to the bathroom. Thinking so he slid open the door. And slammed it back close, making a loud thump. Keima looked awkwardly at his classmates who were now staring at him. He turned to walk to the other door in the room, then thought better of it and doubled-back. He smirked confidently and slide back open the door. And slid it back close. He made a small, unintelligible whimper. _Guess I can do it later_, he thought.

Lunch found Keima at the cafeteria, a rare event. The other students evidently thought so too, as they gawked and pointed whispered among themselves at his sudden appearance. He ordered bread and juice. He scurried into a corner, slamming his tray onto the table and startling Chihiro, who was the other one sitting there.

"What the hell, Otamega? This was a private table."

They had a fierce staring match. It was one that Keima lost when he heard a familiar face slide into the table next to theirs.

"Ah, Kusunoki-senpai!"

Careful not to meet the ice warrior's eyes, Keima cleared his throat, grabbed his food, and left.

"Oh, wait for me senpai!"

_Why is she following me?_

OoOoOoOo

((

I have once cornered the target in a secluded area. I asked him about his pendant again. He ignored my question and left.

Such rudeness. If I were not treading on glass to avoid angering the possible demon, I would have made him kowtow for blatant disrespect.

I still had to know more.

I followed him to the physical education class in the school dojo. I begged off my own, citing a duty I had to do. It was good that the teacher was quick to oblige. The other students in my class were happy; I assume they were cheering for me and my duty in secret.

I watched him spar. He was still engrossed with the "game machine". (I'd asked my classmates about it, they were only too eager to give the answer) How disgraceful! He should adopt a fighting stance and face his enemy directly!

I heard a mewing sound next to me. Next thing I knew, I was distracted by a kitty.

))

OoOoOoOo

Keima figured Kusunoki would drop by when he had physical education, as that seemed to be her forte. Fortunately, there was no sight of her, and of how her warrior self might react to his unorthodox fighting style.

The teacher ignored it, because it worked, and because he always failed the Capturing God anyway.

Tenri was looking in awe at Keima's direction. She tapped Ayumi on the shoulder and asked her friend about it. "Katsuragi-san's doing well, even though he's. . . "

"Yeah," Ayumi agreed, nodding sagely. "He's like that, the idiot. The others have learned just to roll with it when they get their turn to spar with him. You should watch for a bit, see what the idiot's cooked up for the sake of his game."

Without looking at his opponent and keeping his eyes trained on his PFP screen, Keima ducked, dodged, rolled and jumped out of his sparring partner's attacks. It was a bizarre scene. His current partner attempted to knock his PFP away, but Keima always smoothly shied away.

The other unleashed a flurry, finally managing to force Keima to release his hands from his PFP. Unfortunately, he was quick to recover like it was nothing, catching it deftly while still staring woodenly at the screen.

"We call it the 'Otamega style'. Many tried to copy it, but none have ever been so successful as him. It's like all his focus on his stupid games goes to his muscles, and they do it unconsciously." They watched as Keima whipped around, turning in the air and ducking to preserve momentum while the partner did a spin-kick. In the end, he recovered while still not looking away from the screen.

"'Course, there's one downside." Keima paused, and they could see he was already breathing heavily. His partner wasn't slow, and after a swift jump kick to his head, the Otamega crashed to the side – still clutching and pushing buttons on his PFP. "Low stamina." There were hollers and jeers and boos as Keima walked back to the side and sat down, his eyes still resolutely glued.

"It's like only the game exists for him at all times. Pathetic, right?" Tenri agreed hesitantly, though she did look like she wanted to say something. "I mean, take out the gaming part and he'd be a pretty awesome fighter don't you think?"

"Kusunoki-senpai!" There were gasps and exclamaions and ejaculations and some girlish-boy screams. The two looked to the side where their friend was now bounding for one Kusunoki Kasuga. She was in her white suit, and seemed like she had recently come to a decision. Ayumi's sigh was a harbinger of the headache to come while Tenri looked on uneasily.

"You, student" the ice warrior pointed her practice sword at Keima. "First to fall on all fours is the loser. I challenge you to a fight."

_challenge you to a fight. . . _

_challenge to a fight . . . _

_to a fight. . . _

_fight. . . _

The challenge echoed deeply, and it was answered by a low, slow rumble of an earthquake._  
_

It seemed as if the entire school of Majima had erupted. Inside their classrooms, students roared and shivered in unison, savoring in equal parts ecstasy and pain the reckoning that was to come. The school came alive with whoops and screams and declarations, with bets starting up all over the place. In a rush, a literal stampede of students made their way to the source, where the infamous Lady Kasuga, the Pure-Fisted had willingly and voluntarily challenged someone else.

That kind of event happened only once, many delinquents attested. Never would their fair Kasuga seek a fight, never on the offensive, and always with a mind to decline even if their actions would ultimately force her hand.

Who was challenged? They asked themselves. Who had been found worthy enough of the Lady's attention, of her untamed spirit, her strength?

Keima looked down, aware that he was now the center of attention of a sea of eyes. He gave curses: one to whatever Divine or malevolent deity was up there, or fate, or something, that called the shots.

Two to encounters, and to the flags that inexplicably came with them.

The Third he dedicated to Hell, without which his life would've gone a lot smoother and with no interruptions from the Real. The she-devil, Hakua, also fit in there somewhere.

And lastly, one to the white-clad being that now stood before him, the personification of cold, refined strength.

Katsuragi? That Katsuragi? The Otamega, certainly infamous in his own right, but never on the level of the Lady Kasuga. Had she made a mistake somehow?

Could she be proving a point? Could she be marking her purity and indomitability by taking on someone who was known to fall on the other end of the scale; the pinnacle of perversion, "Otamegane", hated by many, loved by none?

Ah, some of them agreed. Perhaps the Lady Kasuga was here to clean up this school once and for all. The Otamega would be the first, and then the rest of the deviants would be summarily challenged and beaten down like the scum they were. And to this the delinquents shivered out of anticipation and fear.

Kusunoki didn't move, to her it was just the two of them, the challenger and challenged. Keima breathed a long-suffering sigh, and looked up, "Why should I?"

"B-b-because you've been challenged?" For a moment, the warrior sounded unsure. "And so you must accept it or accept my terms?"

"If you win," Kusunoki proclaimed. "I shall leave you alone from now on. If I am victorious, then you shall have to answer questions of mine until I am satisified, under pain of death."

The ones who were at the fore of the crowd heard her conditions loud and clear, but the people at the back, especially the delinquents who worshipped her, only heard, "victorious", "mine", "satisfied", "until", "death".

Which made them think that Kasuga intended for the Otamega to become her underling. A wave of ill-mannered outrage swept across them, how come _he _gets to become Lady Kasuga's underling?

"Really now," Keima chuckled. He snapped open his PFP, retrieving the disc and replacing another one inside. He snapped it back close and turned it on with deliberate care. "Now that seems to be a good deal." He had nothing to lose.

"So you accept then?"

Keima pushed his glasses up, the light tinting over them in a perverted manner. "How could I not? It seems a rather agreeable deal to me, I get what I want in exchange for almost nothing. It will be a pleasure, Lady Kasuga. Not that it's going to be fun for me." He stood up and walked to the other side of the enclosure, turning to face Kusunoki once he was far enough.

A ripple of rage aimed at the Otamega coursed through the delinquents' veins when they heard his reply, "exchange" "for" "pleasure", and "fun". . . How dare that guy aim to defile their lady so!

"Go! Crush the moron, Kasuga-senpai!" Chihiro hollered from the front, echoing their sentiments exactly. "He's got nothing on you!"

"Chihiro, don't you think that's a little too much?" Ayumi asked. "After all, poor Katsuragi's gonna be mincemeat on the floor, it'd be nice to give the guy some dignity."

"Hah!" Chihiro scoffed. "What's the matter, Ayumi, do you secretly harbor feelings for the Otamega or something? Can't stand to see him hurt?"

"N-not really," Ayumi hotly refuted. Tenri glanced at her discreetly.

"Here follows the reckoning, ladies and gentlemen. A long time coming indeed, but we all did not know it would be in this manner." Maestro had begun his speech, already guiding his classmates. "At the very least, we did not wish him to be brutalized like thus, merely driven out or exiled perhaps? Disgrace though he may be, he was part of us. . . "

"Accept it with pride, Katsuragi!" "Offer your neck properly!" "Die with honor, Otamega!"

Kusunoki appraised her opponent, sizing him up. He held a lot of openings, didn't even slip into a stance. Instead he kept playing his "game machine". "Won't you take a stance? Fight me properly!"

"And is it fair for me to fight you when I don't have a sword myself?" Keima fired back. "Not like it matters, I intend to beat you with or without that sword." His competitiveness rose to the fore.

Kusunoki was about to apologize and demand for a sword ("Lady Kasuga's using a sword! Maybe Otamega's not worthy of her fists!") but his comment felt like black ink on her unstained samurai soul. Honor required she teach the whelp a lesson using her barely trained skills, and perhaps wring an answer or two from him after.

As for Katsuragi Keima, well, he really had nothing to lose. He only wanted this flag done and over with.

A sudden chill came over the entire assembly. Most felt the incoming killing intent and shivered, holding themselves or their friends in fright. The delinquents relished in it like a pleasant breeze.

Kusunoki sank into a ready stance. Attack form. No quarter. She charged.

"As expected, Katsuragi is fast on his feet! He's dodged Kasuga-senpai's first move, and boy would you look at that all those splinters! Looks like the work crews are gonna be at it for another month!"

"Chihiro. . . " Ayumi said tiredly.

"What? A little commentating don't hurt anyone. Ooh, Katsuragi's still dodging, still dodging, using his trademark Otamega style! I wonder how long he'll last this time, I assume some bets are already up and running? I would hope so, I'm certainly aiming for ten seconds at best!"

It was certainly a lot different here, as defending against an opponent with an extended reach was more than he was used to. Still, he did his best. He'd even chosen the game suitable for this situation, having minigames that tested his button-pressing skills, which somehow transferred over to his muscle's speed.

Eventually, Kusunoki herself heated up. "Oh! Ladies and gentlemen, looks like the gloves are off! Kasuga-senpai's leaking a bit more killer intent than before. What does this bode for the poor idiot? And how come he's survived this long?"

With every swing, wind pressure followed, unbalancing Keima, to which he adjusted by dancing just out of reach. The pressure itself cut his clothes, and Keima began to worry if they would hold. The surrounding crowd didn't fare so well, and scores of them toppled after the wave of pressure passed over their bodies.

"Looks like the Otamega's being boxed off! Kasuga-senpai is slowly leading him to his impending demise!" _I really should thank you, Kosaka. _He was being herded into a corner where there was less room to maneuver. Fortunately, the nature of the boundary worked for him, as the people in the corner backed up, retreating in the face of utter doom by the effect of Kasuga's attacks. It widened his available room, something which Kusunoki noticed with irritation.

Kusunoki paused, and seemed to be considering her options. She retreated to the center, forcing Keima to follow her.

OoOoOoOo

((

It was unthinkable.

How could the man survive this long?

I was already pushed to the limits of my leashed abilities. Any more and I would be fighting at my full potential.

The man had made no move to retaliate whatsoever. His unworthy self kept on evading and evading my attacks without end! He was an eel, slipping away fromy my fingertips making me feel like i was hiting air. There are truly layers here I cannot comprehend.

Seeing as my enemy ever remained on the defensive, I realized he was trying to force me to capitulate by the manner of his slipperyness.

I clenched my fist on the sword handle. Like I'd let you dishonor me further!

Maybe for a while, I could unleash full power. Just for a fraction of a second, to stun him so I can knock him down. Then I'd won.

I slipped into the conservative form. A well-aimed strike at his feet should do it. I released the first seal.

))

OoOoOoOo

Keima felt it coming, as sure as any release date. The crowd fell back, their tension freezing beneath their skins as the temperature in the dojo sank. He saw Kusunoki relax, her eyes glaring at him coldly.

He had to admit, he was amazed that he'd lasted this long. He figured that it wouldn't have taken more than five seconds to beat him down, perhaps he had a hidden power no one knew, even himself? That would be very inconvenient. As he'd seen in some routes, revealing your power this early on promised more flags in the future.

_Well, let this end then._

When Kusunoki charged, he didn't see it coming. She literally disappeared into thin air, which Keima thought was out of the realm of possibility in the Real, only occuring in his games. And now there -

_Oh man. _He did what any suicidal man would do. He ran forward, charging as well. What he didn't expect was suddenly getting face-to-face with Kusunoki when she reappeared. Shock was evident on the other, their faces mere centimetres apart, with their bodies running parallel as if they'd just passed each other by.

OoOoOoOo

((

"Stop overextending yourself!"

That had been my father's criticism of my swordsmanship.

It was one of the weaknesses I constantly let slip past me, a persistent flaw in my attack patterns.

And now, I'd let it happen again.

))

OoOoOoOo

Time slowed to a halt for the Capturing God. But he didn't have time to dwell on the battle. In this situation, he surrendered to his instincts. Time sped back up.

He spun in place, and in the process his foot knocked Kusunoki's weapon away. She cried out in shock, and got him back by delivering a solid punch deep in his guts.

"Guhaaaa!"

Like a wayward meteor, Keima sunk and crashed into the polished wooden floor, earning a sharp comment from Chihiro about the dojo's imminent closing.

Kusunoki took one, two, several deep breaths. The crowd watched as she retrieved her weapon with dignity, sheathing it back. One almost thought there had been a championship of sorts won by Majima then and there, as the crowd's roar and subsequent ear-rocking applause rocked the small dojo.

It was abruply silenced by Kusunoki's next wave of killing intent.

"So, student." Kusunoki declared, staring down at an unconscious Keima, his glasses askew but his PFP still clutched in his unrelenting hand. "I will have you answer my questions now."

* * *

Author's Note: Just putting out this chapter now in case I get too distracted next week reading _Rewrite. _

Chapter thoughts-

**Ayumi –** I forgot to add her in last chapter, but yes, she is important. I've decided to add in a role for her, as what I seem to remember from the manga was her appearing only once after her route, and it was only in a cameo-like, advisory role. I would just like to come out now that although Ayumi isn't my favorite, she has some attractive qualities to me. (I would like to withhold saying who my favorite really is as that would upset some people *looks at Vivian over his shoulder*) She does have a role in the endgame.

**Mio, Kanon, Shiori –** yes, they also have a role, albeit only to a minor extent for the latter two. I still haven't decided at this point if they should appear at all. Twin-tailed tsundere is up there with Chihiro in terms of importance.

Last of all, did any of you notice Hakua doesn't appear at all here? Weird.

I would like to know about any recent developments in the series; in terms of elements about Hell or the rumored Heaven that Tenri's "goddess" hails from. PM or review me if you please, though it's fine otherwise – the plot's pretty much lined up. Any facts from side-materials that I haven't had the time to check out would be nice to know as well.

Till next time!

Edit: June 25 A reminder that next week **_will_** be offlimits because of aforementioned game. ^_^ also, might be writing a _Haruhi Suzumiya _fanfiction in honor of freak teleportations directly into your girlfriend's room! God I loved that in the latest novel.

Merlin out!


	19. Her Determination

Somewhere in the vicinity of a blind alley in downtown Majima, where the dregs and near-dregs of town congregated, a magic circle suddenly appeared. Invisible, it hummed and glowed, becoming more distinct in shape and pattern as time went on. Eventually, the design was complete, and a dark-purple bubble, still invisible, rose from the circle. It kept on growing until it was the size of a man, and then after straining, it burst, revealing Specialist Nora of the Runaway Spirit Squad and Dokuru School, her superior and Section Chief of the Far East.

If there had been any humans in the vicinity, they might have seen the flash of light and sudden appearance of the two demons, but only for a second, as they soon vanished like a bad hallucination.

Dokuru had his palms upward, reinforcing the magic circle before dropping his arms and nodding in satisfaction. "Infiltration complete. Let us proceed then, Specialist Nora."

The magic circle rose from the ground, hovering delicately as it carried the diminutive Section Chief and the tall, buxom Specialist like a flying platform. With the glinting of runes, the unseen transport zipped away from that place.

"It's a good thing you don't have Member Hakua's problem with instant-porting." Dokuru commented off-hand while consulting his workpad. "Poor dear could never stomach that."

"I'm flattered sir," Nora replied, her eyes looking all-too pleased as she scanned the tall and short buildings. "I'm sure she can . . . overcome her flaws in time."

"We all have our faults," he said simply. "And I have high hopes that she can; she is an excellent devil of Hell."

"I wholeheartedly agree!" Nora smirked, rolling her eyes mentally. The magic transport zipped through an alley. "Where shall we go first, sir?"

The workpad expanded into a big glowing map, showing the entirety of Majima. There were blue glowing lights on it, each at different places in the city. Dokuru pointed his boned finger to one. "That seems to be closest. Let's investigate there first."

Nora nodded and guided the magic circle in that direction.

OoOoOoOo

Doors were smashed open, teachers were knocked aside like flimsy junk and delinquents prostrated themselves like she was Shiva reborn, as Kusunoki dragged her spoils through the winding corridors of Majima high. Keima was doing the best impression of a near-dead Hector as he seemed to dangle lifelessly, still clutching his PFP.

The chaos that had erupted from Kusunoki's challenge and subsequent victory had died down, with a lot of delinquents swearing to their lady's newfound legend. Many were upset that bets hadn't gone through – because no one betted on the Otamega. Some were vocal about the otaku's failure, Chihiro foremost, though Ayumi sensed a distinctly wry sarcasm dripping through her friend's declarations. She was about to call Tenri aside for clothes-changing – but found that the reticent girl had disappeared.

"Let's head back to change, Chihiro," Ayumi urged her other friend. She glanced at the Maestro who was still at it before a troop of their classmates. "And do something about those guys, they're embarrassing our class."

Chihiro barked a mere "Maestro!", and that seemed to be enough to cow the flamboyant rabblerouser and dissolve the crowd.

"That was a crazy match," Chihiro observed on the way back.

"Bizzare," agreed Ayumi. She noticed the pieces of old polish and wood along the floor of the hall that marked the trail of Katsuragi being dragged off. "Wonder what Kasuga-senpai wanted with Keima. I can't imagine him being involved with anything involving delinquency; he's kinda single-minded and obvious about his unique wants. I really can't imagine him being involved in fights." Chihiro shrugged, muttering something about not caring as long as she (hopefully) didn't kill him.

They trudged on in silence, Ayumi lost in the study of her thoughts until it was interrupted when she realized she'd left her friend behind; Chihiro having stopped a ways back and tilting her head in the middle of the hall. She was frowning at a puzzled Ayumi, who doubled back to her friend.

Chihiro raised the tip of her finger. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. 'Keima'? You used his first name just now. It literally took my brain five seconds to get that. If you're- but that's- then you're- And that usually means-"

"Wha-" Ayumi couldn't believe she was starting this again. "It was a slip of the tongue! Anyone would have done it."

"But not consistently," Chihiro pointed out with a growing smirk on her face. "It's calling him by his first name now, and before I remember your concern for him at the challenge-"

"Why wouldn't you be concerned?" Ayumi interjected, feeling an odd flush in her neck.

"-And you keep mentioning him at the most inopportune times, like when we discussed 'doability' in _idols _and you mentioned _him_?" The smirk was full-blown now.

"I said it would be _impossible_ to do him-" Ayumi was finding it a bit harder to breathe.

"That and many other clues I'll be remembering from now on makes me think," Chihiro put a finger to her chin, then her eyes widened, bopping her hand on her palm as if she'd come to a sudden conclusion. "-that Ayumi has a crush. . . "

"WHAT!" The fully red-faced Ayumi shouted, making the few loitering students in the corridor turn their heads.

"Ayumi has a crush. . . " Chihiro pranced, lowering her voice just enough in a sing-song voice, "-a crush, a crush. . . Ayumi has a crush on our very own Ota- hey! Don't raise your fists like that! You know you can't punch a damn, ahaha~"

Chihiro ended up being chased right to their classroom. Many wondered why the up and coming ace and champion of the previous track-and-field tournament took too long to catch her seemingly unathletic friend, who cackled away like a lively witch.

Their new friend watched them zip by on the staircase landing. She smiled awkwardly at their antics, before letting it slip and continuing on with her climb. The sun-touched railing glimpsed her unguarded expression for a while – an eye that fiercely brooked no opposition.

OoOoOoOo

Proud Kasuga stood, arms akimbo. She faced the eastern part of the rooftop, part meditating on her victory and contemplating on the questions she would soon be asking the suspicious student.

((

For the most part, though he was an unusual opponent to deal with, wielding an illegal style and having a disagreeable demeanor, at his core I could see he was just as any human.

Which was to say, average. Not like those such as myself.

Apparently that assumption would fall on its head if he did turn out to be involved with those that I hunt. Many possibilities came to mind, coming from what I'd read from the Kasuga family scrolls. The demon could have taken his flesh, or possessed him by some strange artifact (perhaps the pendant). The demon might even be living inside him, lodging inside his spiritual pathways like a parasite.

Should the demon be strong. . . I clenched my fist.

I sensed the student coming to. I turned and declared, making him at least feel the extent of my mission and my purest determination, "I am Kusunoki Kasuga of the Noble House of Kasuga, a family of demon-hunters. I ask you this: are you involved with demons?"

))

Keima took several seconds to reorient himself after being served that declaration. He checked his PFP absentmindedly, noting the distinct crack on the screen, adjusted his glasses, and checked his body for any injuries. Finally he stood up, brushing the dust from where he could see it. He regretted seeing the white being tarnished like this, but cleaning it up was a lost cause with all the tears it had gotten from Kasuga's attacks.

"Demon hunter?" Hakua whispered from somewhere. "As I suspected Katsuragi, she's-"

"Answer the question, student." Keima made no move to reveal an emotion on his face. The first thing he'd learned to do during uncomfortable confrontations such as these was "Deny, deny, deny" – ever the most helpful tip one could use in the face of uncomfortable accusations or questions. But with Hakua whispering incessantly in his ear, almost as bad as that other thing in his head, he was finding it hard to retain his composure.

"Demons?" asked Keima. He made to look as if the term was a confusing subject. "What kind of demons are you talking about, Kasuga-senpai? Like the ones in the legends? Or the ones you see in cartoons? Or those books... Did you sign a contract. . .?"

"Do not fly around my question. Do not lie. I see through your answer as clear as glass. My clan arts have detected an anomaly, something distinctly demonic about that pendant you keep wearing on yourself." Kusunoki glared at his chest.

"Respectfully senpai,that was but a mere trinket, and I had to wear it because I lost a punishment game. My mother's terribly good with the consequences thing, and she thought it appropriate that I wear one that looks completely gaudy." Truthfully, her mother could be very particular in getting what she wanted. He then went on to describe how he'd lost, and what the pendant meant to Katsuragis. He didn't flinch on the thought that the backstory had been blatantly ripped off from a character in his games – a _girl _from his games.

"I will be the one to ascertain that, student. Show me your pendant again." Kusunoki held out her hand. She didn't look like his response had affected her judgement.

Keima made a motion of being uncomfortable. "It's. . . I'm telling you honestly that I don't have it on me anymore. I've left it-"

"You lie!" Quick as lightning Kusunoki pounced, grabbing the front of his PE uniform. _Yep, she's inhumanly fast. _She started ripping open the front. _And isn't afraid to touch people when she feels like it. _He tried struggling, but it was a helpless gesture.

"How can this be?" Kusunoki wondered, her eyes goggle-like in their sockets when she discovered that the pendant was no longer attached to the student's neck. Nor was it on his person, as she searched, much to Keima's discomfort, his gym clothes. "W-where-"

"I told you, it was only for a short while, under the terms of the punishment game," explained Keima, still being held by the front of his shirt. He was increasingly finding it hard to contain _**it**_'s symptoms by Kusunoki's close proximity. It didn't help that she smelled good for someone who'd just gone through a sweat-inducing fight.

He let Kusunoki wrestle with her emotions for a while, watching it steal across her face, changing it to many different expressions. "If you understand, could you let me go? I have to change, and salvage what little is left of my reputation in this damned school after your challenge." The second was less than half-true, he didn't give a damn what other people thought.

He was less than pleased by what Kusunoki said next.

"Then, allow me to come to your house. Show me the artifact. It shall prove your innocence, and I will let you go if you are proven thus."

For once, Keima let indignation show among his carefully-controlled expressions. "What? You can't be serious, senpai! I just had my reputation shattered, my PFP cracked, my personal space violated, and now you want to go to my house? That's more than enough!"

"I am a demon-hunter-"

"Oh, really. I don't mean to be offensive, honored senpai, but if you expect me to believe that, you've got another thing coming. You're freakishly strong, sure, and fast, and _otherworldly _even, but demons?" Keima said, chuckling. "They don't exist. In my games, maybe, but not in reality." He could almost imagine the thing in his head rolling on the floor laughing.

"You have to hear me out student. This may become important to the survival of the people." Keima raised his eyebrows. "So I'll prove it to you." She let him go, and walked to the other side of the rooftop.

"Prove what? That demons exist?" He was really sure he'd be biting his tongue sometime soon.

"Just as I revealed myself to you, so too shall I enforce that it will _remain _a secret," a tiny bit of killing intent leaked out. It alarmed him far less than the unspoken threat of physical pain. "Of course, if you were involved with demons, I'd also be demonstrating what I will do to you when it's true."

The tall, long-haired warrior clad in pure white took a bow. Keima wondered if it was directed at him. Then he watched her crush her clenched fists together, letting a full stream of killing intent flow that was strong enough to make him stop breathing when it couldn't before. He had the urge to run, or at least retreat a safe distance, but the old Katsuragi stubbornness made him stay his feet. Then she muttered something he couldn't hear before running forward a few yards and thrusting out one of her fists in the air.

Tendrils of blue-colored lightning erupted from her outstretched fist, illuminating the day with eye-dazzling clarity. He smelled the rich scent of burning before he hummed in an interested way.

"That's. . . new. . ." Actually it wasn't, having been a witness to the devil's magickery, but he had to keep appearances. He wore the face of someone who had just seen something he couldn't believe, but couldn't deny as well. Like seeing a release date being pushed back six months.

He shook a finger at Kusunoki's who was approaching, twiddling it like he was about to say something. He settled for silence afterward as the maiden warrior stared with s grim satisfaction at him.

"Are you satisfied? Denying me now after I've shown you the seriousness of my claim will make you look suspicious."

Keima was in a right conundrum. He resolved to beat the devil over the head later on. He was about to open his mouth before a breeze wafted past them, and the roof door shut with a loud bang behind him. They both looked quickly at the door, Keima shrugging first and saying as if he had no choice in the matter, "Agreed. This is like the first time I've seen something amazing-ouch!"

"What is it?" Kusunoki asked with narrowed eyes.

"No nothing. . . " Keima turned away, bringing a finger to his lips. He opened his mouth, trying to have the air relieve his now-swollen tongue. "I gueth I've no choithe then. . . I shall lead the way, senpai, but please keep a distance from on the way to the house, wouldn't want people to misunderstand. . . "

OoOoOoOo

"She" descended the stairs, a cramped, contemplating look on "her" face.

"She" looked down at the metal railing. Her eyes looked uncertain, as if she was worried by someone or something.

OoOoOoOo

Nora stood watch, eyeing the sprawling city below her with minute distaste. A secrecy shroud had fallen over the rooftop of the building, allowing the demons to do their task with impunity. On the other side of the roof, her superior was tracing lines on the concrete, muttering in a dialect she couldn't understand. She squinted her eyes as the human sun peeked between two buildings.

"I have completed diagnosis of the tear," Dokuru announced, the suddenness making her muscles twitch ever so slightly. She schooled her face before walking towards the diminutive demon, who loomed over the channeler seal that rapidly materialized on the ground.

"This is Hakua's handiwork alright. The script looks just like how she inscribes runes. And these markings leading to the contextual ley-lines, you can plainly see her mark," Dokuru commented excitedly, as if seeing something fascinating.

Nora, who only saw a rudimentary channeler seal being forced to reveal itself to demons' sight, didn't comment. She was about to throw out a disparaging comment about her colleague's shoddy excuse for a circle when Dokuru continued talking, forcing her to bite that thought back.

"She's greatly improved since last I saw her perform. . . Have you ever seen her perform, Specialist Nora?" She shook her head, a bit impatiently. "I was one of those overseeing the Academy's final projects. Member Hakua's version of a disguise circle was filled with many errors; wrong syntaxes, inappropriate ley-lines, even the design was wrong, and the style left much to be desired. It was a wonder how she passed that."

"I wonder too," Nora's eyes widened pleasantly in their sockets. _Jackpot!_

"- though she has improved much over the decades. And now this, this. This. . . is masterwork. It's like a Royal seal all by itself, right Specialist Nora?" Dokuru asked Nora's opinion again.

Her mind being filled by thoughts of sweet maliciousness, the most Nora could utter was a quizzical "Er. . . maybe?" She truly didn't see anything amazing in this remarkably below-average circle.

"You don't see it?" Dokuru chuckled, making Nora flush to her cheekbones. If there was something her superior saw that she hadn't, then that was a bit fine, but it irked her all the same. Irritably, she shook her head, acceding her ignorance of whatever it was the old coot had seen. She instead channeled her hidden fury at a certain Hakua, who had made something to impress even the chief.

"Well, primarily, I say the seal's impressive because of the Heaven runes."

Nora tilted her head. "That demon used _those _runes?" she asked increduously.

"Yes," here Dokuru assumed the air of his part-time alternate job, an instructor at the academy. "They're all very rudimentary, all very basic forms, ones you might get from reading up on the archives. But even in spite that, it's still a wonder she was able to comprehend it at all." That was no joke, Nora thought. She couldn't even understand Paradisia herself; most devils couldn't. Typically any demons who laid eyes on even a single piece of Paradisial runes would have a blinding headache. Those with greater power could suppress their forms' aversion to the script and force themselves to attempt to read it, but even then, that was only the first step. The next would be to understand what the rune meant, which was virtually impossible for the average devil.

There was a special class in the Academy dedicated to the study of Heaven-runes, and understandably, not many took those. It was fairly unpopular, and the more unsavory demons would have harassed the space dedicated to it had it not been indirectly protected by the instructor's runes haphazardly drawn on the outside. So these settled for ambushing the students who took said course.

Odd, she couldn't remember Hakua taking those classes. Or any of her past and present underlings for that matter. Though maybe they might have just missed her coming and going.

"Nora? Specialist Nora?" Nora stirred, apologizing saccharinely for the lapse. Dokuru was still crouched over the seal, tracing his fingers through the visible marks on the circle. After she murmured her apologies, he turned back to the process of examination.

"So very intriguing designs... almost as if she was marking a deliberate pattern ... one never sees that often in Paradisian seals ... Oho, Kiseth would have a field day were I to copy this and show it to him ... Hmm, maybe I can-"

"Sir?" Nora interjected.

"Ah yes," it was Dokuru's turn to hastily apologize. "I'm sorry dear, I just feel... excited, I guess? You may prepare the returning spell now, I believe we've gathered most of the data we needed. I just need to tweak a few more..."

"Understood," Nora stepped back to the edge of the shrouding spell where she began tracing another seal in midair. The rum-red sigils flared, casting an infernal glow on her darkened body. She turned to watch Dokuru crawling over the circle.

The chief wanted to test something, he was already scrawling over some of the Heaven symbols around the outer edge with his own script. After tracing the last one, the red symbols superimposed over the yellow ones glowed, before settling into the yellow color. Dokuru sat, humming to himself. He then stood, snapping his fingers. The shroud fell apart, returning back to the original seal. The transport seal descended to his level, after which he climbed on, urging it towards Nora. He glanced back at the still-visible seal.

"A lesson, Nora. Just a little tidbit from Advanced Paradisial Studies... something our very own Hakua seems to have mastered so well. Now, generally, if the seal's contextual barriers aren't reinforced by the right scripts (and the right runes of course), the whole thing falls apart if another knowledgeable seal-user tampers with them afterwards..."

"Uh-huh," Nora turned back to channeling the transport cantrip.

"-rune, syntax, and context, all very basic of course, that's the foundation to all Heavenly scripts. Of course, true seals utilized by the higher beings no longer exist on the human realm, to our knowledge, so questions like structural integrity and hermentology of 'proper' Heaven seals are out of the question..."

That reminded her, Nora needed to change around her scheme involving that Hakua now. If that demon actually had any shred of skill in her – she didn't want to be caught flat-footed. Even if she knew she could handle anything that flat chest could throw... Better to be err on the side of caution. She unconsciously clenched the hand that wasn't held out channeling. A thought occured to her. _A bit of research perhaps?_

"-so as an example, just a little test, I rewrote a small portion of the seal. If her seal's design were any less, it would backfire, but if it were, my intended effect shall occur right...about... now."

Never would Nora admit to her underlings, to her bosses, or to herself that she was easily floored, or knocked aside, that fact simply was untrue – save for certain occasions. Certain several occasions. Dokuru's modification to Hakua's seal was one instance, one that she would gladly store away into her memories.

A battered Nora picked herself off of the branches of the tree, cursing at the twigs and leaves in her hair. She consulted her raiment, she'd been blown quite a few ways south of the previous location.

She looked up to see Dokuru approaching on the transport, apologizing profusely once again for that particular mishap.

"But that did validate my little theory, Specialist Nora. That was certainly very impressive sealwork. Oh Hakua, how far you've gone... and how far will you go?"

Nora felt like she'd been blown away yet again by a Class-V magical explosion.

OoOoOoOo

In the direction of a certain cafe in the town of Majima, there was a huge explosion.

Not that anyone felt it, which was indeed strange for an explosion such as this. But were any old hands who'd considered themselves delinquents twenty some years ago present in the area, they would have felt the cold, creeping power of the killing intent that spread throughout the town for but an instant. A force that they would be so familiar with, that haunted most of their number's nightmares long after they'd joined society peacefully.

The legend of Majima's "Yukionna" lived on.

* * *

Author's Note: Well, have a happy holidays too.

Merlin out.


	20. Bad End for now at least

Hi guys, it's Vivian. Long time no see to some readers, I guess, and to Merlin's readers - hello.

I promised myself and that we wouldn't be seeing each other again, owing to some failures on the part of the readerbase (or on me) but due to my obligation to Merlin, I'm here writing this message now.

For those expecting some updates to his stories, I'm afraid to say that won't be possible for the next month or so, because of a traumatic incident which Merlin was just recently involved in over a week ago. As he may have indicated (or not), Merlin's kinda...special, and witnessing two instances of death two times in less than the span of a year was bad - very bad for him. It was lucky that this time it wasn't anyone particularly close; I don't know if it'd have been worse should a close friend of his have been the one.

We are doing our best to support him in this tough time as he "recovers himself". Until then, we thank you all for your patience, and for being the few who actively care for what he produces. Truly, we thank you.


End file.
